


Actions Speak Louder

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor [30]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:06:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 143,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The movie Insurrection pissed me off. So I wrote a version in which radioactivity altering your body is not all fun and games, Captain Picard doesn't fall for the Most Bland Woman in the Universe, Data isn't a flotation device, and the simplest answer is not always the best one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pawns and Compasses

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes: I realize that if my timeline followed the canon one more closely, certain events in this story would have already taken place. I realize also that certain details are *different* in my story, which is quite intentional. It would be helpful to have read the rest of the Captain and Counselor series, but only if you want to understand all the "in" jokes and some of the references. I *think* the uninitiated would understand this.
> 
> For my cousin, the Beckmeister, with whom I created and recorded on cassette many a parody of Star Trek, and who has unknowingly contributed many of Natalia's catchphrases and quirks.
> 
> And, for everyone who has ever sent me feedback. I hope you enjoy this, as a number of comments influenced it greatly.

 

It's not true that life is one damn thing after another; it is one damn thing over and over.

~ Edna St. Vincent Millay ~

Such as we are made of, such we be.

~ William Shakespeare ~

A belief is like a guillotine, just as heavy, just as light.

~ Franz Kafka ~

 

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 1

He woke suddenly, for no apparent reason, and stared at the stars through the narrow windows over his head.

Silent. Peaceful. The familiarity of his quarters -- there was that faint lingering aroma of perfume, briefly detected. The pillow, familiar warp and woof of the fabric against the back of his head. The blankets, warm and smooth, sliding over his skin as he moved a leg to stretch out the beginnings of a charlie horse in his calf.

He sighed, stretched with an arch in his back, yawning. Smiling, he rolled on his side and his arm went out automatically to drape itself over --

Where was Deanna?

He sat up and took stock of this development. For a few moments, he sorted through memories. So many reality shifts, temporal anomalies, adventures with Q -- fear gripped him. Had Q done it again?

"Lights!"

He scanned the room. Still the same room -- there was the wedding picture, him and Deanna and their friends, in the correct place on the wall. There on the top shelf was that silly chocolate bust of him that Bell and Will had given Deanna for her birthday. The Klingon dagger Worf had given him before he'd left the ship. Things were where they should be.

No light in the bathroom, though. No Deanna. No underlying sense of her presence, either.

He lunged from the bed and hurried out into the living area. Stalking around the room once in a large circle, he verified that this, too, was normal -- all the little details were correct, right down to the floral arrangements Deanna had put out just last week and the new painting she'd hung on the wall last night, in her yen for changing the scenery once in a while. A Vermeer this time, Woman with a Water Pitcher, chosen because she'd liked the sunshine and simplicity of the scene. Before it had been a print of something from a Rigellian artist. There was the book she'd been reading, tented across the back of the couch.

"Dee," he gasped finally, forcing the plea into being. "Deanna!"

He hurried into the nursery. The furniture and decorations were slowly coming together; the crib he'd made, the rocking chair in the corner, the jumble of toys spilling out of a box -- she wasn't here either.

By this time, she would have sensed his fear and contacted him, if she were aboard.

Unless something was wrong. Unless she was in labor --

No. That wasn't right. He'd have known, one way or the other, someone would have contacted him --

"Computer, location of Commander Troi!"

"Commander Troi is not on board the *Enterprise.*"

Panic. The knot in his chest sat there rather than exploding only by dint of great effort expended, and he had to remain calm, had to remain calm, had to --

He sat up, gasping for air, the shout leaving his lips as he did so, the blanket falling free of his arm -- his own breathing sounded loud and ragged in his own ears. Then her voice, husky with sleep and confusion.

"What is it?"

Oh, sweet music! He turned to her, gasping, laughing, reaching for her as she struggled to sit up. In the starlight she looked every bit the moon goddess Diana, her white gown contributing to that. She put a hand to her swollen abdomen and endured his frantic embrace.

"My cygne -- "

"You were having another dream, weren't you?"

Burying his face in her hair, he tried not to hold on too tightly. Breathing her scent helped. She tolerated his nocturnal nonsense so patiently, putting her arm around him and rubbing his shoulder, letting him touch her -- letting him trace her face with his fingertips, the lines of her collar bones through the gown -- letting him place his lips against her throat just behind her ear, sliding down, leaning to kiss lightly in that spot where clavicles met and the silver swan pendant rested when she wore her favorite necklace. Her belly felt firm and round under his hand as he rubbed slow orbits around it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered at last. "I didn't mean to wake you. Would you like anything, something to drink? Everything all right?"

"I'm fine. Yves has been very quiet. It's just his papa who's jumpy -- are we going to sleep soon?" She yawned as she spoke.

"Of course."

He tucked her in again, noticing her amused smile -- she laughed at him for fussing, but he couldn't seem to help it. No way to indulge during the day, when both of them were officers. Even the evenings were difficult, thanks to the constant flow of comm calls and visitors.

Spooning himself against her back, hoping the cloud of her hair against his face and the solid warmth of her in his arms would stave off the nightmares, he tried to relax enough to get back to sleep.

"I love you, chere."

"I know, Jean-Fish. You're keeping me awake with it."

"Well, I'm sorry, I'm not going to stop -- you'll just have to live with it."

"I love you too. Even if it's something like sleeping with one of Mother's pet vines."

{Hush, petite mère. Sweet dreams. . . .}

\---------------

Ben Davidson ran his eyes down the list of appointments for the next week. Natalia Greenman was due in that afternoon for her monthly visit. Hopefully he'd be able to release her from the ritual appointments; she'd been in therapy since coming aboard two years before, and her improvement was impressive. Deanna's initial assessment had proved correct. Though much of the time Greenman spent in her initial sessions had been unproductive therapy, it had gone toward building trust between counselor and patient, and once that was in place she'd progressed rapidly as if making up for lost time. The kinds of difficulties Natalia had sometimes plagued people for years.

Hard not to feel inadequate, following in Counselor Troi's footsteps. Especially when the captain tended to ask Troi's opinion in addition to his counselor's, which would have happened anyway -- she was his first officer, after all -- but which often resulted in Ben feeling second-rate. And of course, she sensed it, and that colored her responses to the captain. He wondered if she hadn't spoken to the captain about his feelings, in spite of the fact that it would have been inappropriate.

The annunciator chimed. "Come," he called, setting aside the padd, and looked up to find Captain Picard entering his office. Ben blinked -- he could count on one hand the number of times the captain had been through those doors since Deanna's career change. He studied the older man's face as he took a chair. Picard looked tired. The slight slouch also said weariness. He straightened at once, not allowing himself to sag.

"What can I do for you, Captain?"

Picard ran his hand over his head, rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, and let his eyelids droop almost closed. "I understand there will be a counselor coming aboard shortly to perform the annual review to satisfy Command we're functioning within acceptable parameters."

"That's right. They haven't given me a name yet, or date of arrival. I don't anticipate that they'll find anything of concern."

"You don't?"

Ben tried not to look too anxious -- something in Picard's tone worried him. "Do you think there's anything of concern?"

Picard took one of those deep breaths that usually preceded a confession he didn't like making. "I can't think of anything presently. I do wonder, however, if the changes we're undergoing due to the pregnancy will cause problems."

"Changes?" Ben picked up his empty coffee mug and headed for the coffee maker he'd put in the corner, since he hadn't been able to get a replicator installed. "Something to drink, before you elaborate on that?"

"No, thank you."

The captain waited for him to sit again with his fresh cup of Renthola coffee. The smell of cinnamon mingling with the bitter odor of the coffee filled the office. Sipping, Ben looked at his commanding officer through the wisps of steam, the first mouthful scalding his tongue. "The process of becoming a parent alters the relationship between spouses -- I'm sure Deanna has told you that."

"How much have you read of her notes of her sessions with me?" Picard asked, sounding like he was announcing the onset of a self-destruct sequence.

An interesting question. Of course, the Picards were an interesting couple, with a relationship so convoluted that Ben wondered what he would do first if they came in for joint counseling -- run screaming from the room, or laugh himself into a fetal position under the desk. The couple had been commanding officer and subordinate, counselor and patient, lovers, then spouses, then captain and first officer, and sometimes Ben wondered if the old roles of counselor and patient weren't still in operation even today. Listening to the two converse was sometimes the aural equivalent of watching Lana'hai perform gymnastics Sulamid-style, all six tentacles in motion and going in different directions.

"I don't pry into old counseling transcripts, Captain. Especially when they require higher clearance than I have. Do you have concerns regarding your performance as an officer?"

"My current difficulty is of a more personal nature, but it hinges upon experiences I've had in the line of duty."

"I did check records when you were in following the miscarriage -- there were a few sessions previously in which you dealt with the aftermath of an encounter with Q, concerning the odd shifts backward and forward through time that you experienced. They weren't of much help to me, except in giving me a better understanding of Q. Other than helping you cope with the miscarriage we haven't had any sessions other than the annual exam, and thus I have had no reason to pry into your case history."

Picard raised an eyebrow and sighed. "I thought I had been in to see you more than that. It must be a reflection of how much I dislike talking about personal issues with anyone but Deanna -- I hope you don't take that personally."

"I'm not supposed to take anything personally when I'm on duty, sir."

A grim smile at that -- the captain sighed again. Something weighed on him heavily. Considering the course of the conversation, Deanna and pregnancy were key factors. Ben sipped his coffee, now just hot instead of scalding, and waited for him to start talking. One of the top entries on Deanna's List of Hints for Successful Captain Counseling -- be willing to let him work through his unwillingness to talk about it until he could talk about it. Asking leading questions when there was definitely something in the works tended to make the patient too aware of the counselor.

"I need your help," Picard said -- almost whispering, as if imparting a secret. "I need to understand why I keep dreaming this way. I'm not certain you can understand the significance of the subject matter without knowing more about my previous counseling sessions."

"Why don't you explain the problem in a nutshell first, before we go any further? You have dreams -- are they disturbing?"

"Yes. And I wake up disoriented, and Deanna wakes up as well. Of course she senses that I'm upset, or worse -- but at least she allows me privacy. If it continues as it has been, she won't be satisfied with my labeling it just another dream. She's going to demand explanations."

"And you're afraid to give them because you don't wish to upset her?"

"Yes."

"Is this one dream repeating itself, or many different ones around a common theme?" In persistent difficulties with disturbing dreams, there was often a single issue to deal with.

The captain settled a little in his chair, now deep in the contemplation of the problem and forgetting his environment. Ben laid his hand alongside the coffee mug casually, toggling the controls; he wanted to record and review this session before filing any official report of the discussion. He also touched the control that secured the door and engaged the 'do not disturb' indicator.

"The common theme is losing Deanna." The captain frowned, the lines around his eyes deepening. He was trying too hard to hide his emotional reaction and staring holes in the carpet. "Sometimes I dream she was never here and everything was a dream. Sometimes she's taken from me -- by Starfleet, or some alien foe. Sometimes she simply vanishes and no one can remember who she was. Once I dreamed I went to the bridge and she was a counselor again, and seeing. . . someone else. Another time she'd transferred, taken a position on another ship."

"How long have you been having these dreams?"

"I don't remember exactly when they started. A couple of weeks ago, at least. But it's gotten worse. At first it was one dream, short and not very intense, and I couldn't remember what it was about. I've remembered more and more of them."

"I could make any number of guesses at what the dreams mean. I'm sure you infer the same as I, that some subconscious fear that you'll lose her has cropped up -- this may be a side effect of the pregnancy. You want to relax and be happy, yet some part of you is afraid to do so. Did you dream last night?"

"Yes." His response was barely audible.

"Tell me about it."

He meshed his fingers, shifting in his chair nervously, and continued to look at anything but Ben's face. "I dreamed I was on Kataan."

"I'm not familiar with that world. Is it one of the worlds you've discovered?"

Picard sat so long in silence that Ben almost prodded him with a question. Finally, his head came up in that familiar way that meant he'd reached some internal conclusion. "Kataan's sun went nova over a thousand years ago. I only knew of it because of a probe we recovered, drifting in space."

"What happened in the dream?"

A faint twist of the captain's lips made Ben wonder what Picard wasn't telling him. "I was with Eline, and Batai. On Batai's sixth birthday. I gave him a flute like mine."

"I don't understand. Who are Eline and Batai?"

The captain ran his hand down his face, leaving it over his mouth as if trying to conceal his reaction. "My wife and son."

"Somehow I think you must have left out a crucial bit of information -- were you married before?"

"The probe connected itself to my mind, and created a lifetime for me to live as a member of their society. I lived for years as Kamin. I had children, Batai and Meribor. A grandchild. I remember afternoons spent talking to people, friends and family. I remember parties and dinners. I remember my wife." He flicked his finger at Ben's desk. "Deanna helped me recover from the shock of discovering that all of it took place within twenty-five minutes while I lay unconscious on my bridge. It's all in my records, in her notes, I'm sure."

"So last night you dreamed of this family, that the probe created for you. And Deanna wasn't in the dream?"

Hand still over his mouth, he mumbled into his palm; Ben had to lean forward and listen carefully to hear. "No. And I knew she was missing, in the dream. I missed her, but I was with Eline. It made me feel guilty. That life I lived on Kataan was as real to me as living here, now, on the ship -- Eline was a real person. They all were, and I interacted with them. I raised two children, I watched Eline -- " When his voice got rougher, he stopped and closed his eyes. He cleared his throat. "I lost all of them. They lived centuries ago -- but I knew them all. I missed them. I still miss them, sometimes."

Ben dropped his gaze out of respect, knowing the captain didn't like exposing such personal emotions this way. He wondered whether Picard had been this upset when he'd awakened last night -- certainly if he had been, Deanna would have known it. "Why do you not want to discuss your dreams with Deanna? She does know about Kataan, and probably about everything else you've dreamed. She was your counselor, after all."

"She comes home at night tired -- she loses sleep because of the baby kicking. The last thing she needs is this nonsense from me. It's been years since the probe, months since the incident with Q. I hadn't thought about it until the dreams started. I don't understand why I'm dreaming this way now."

Ben put down his empty mug and chewed his lip. "I haven't seen either of you performing with any less efficiency or composure than usual, aside from Deanna's occasional mood swings. Are there any work-related pressures that I don't know about?"

"We're supposed to finish mapping this sector, and there's not much in it -- nothing very stressful about that."

"I assume you and Deanna have discussed how you're going to arrange your lives once the baby is born?" Ben glanced up at the captain and found him frozen in the same position as when he'd glanced away. "Is the baby in any of your dreams, Captain?"

"No," he rasped, looking as if he'd just realized it, and it hit him hard.

"I realize that you don't want to upset her, but Deanna already knows something is going on. If this has something to do with the baby, reassuring yourself that all is well would necessitate speaking to her -- "

"I can't discuss this with her."

The flat refusal surprised Ben. The captain had always been cooperative with him and, from what she said, with Deanna, albeit sometimes in a reluctant way. "Why not?"

"I don't know," he said slowly, thinking, distant-eyed. "It isn't something I can articulate. Perhaps that's why I can't talk to her yet. I don't know what to think of it myself."

Using another trip to the coffee maker to stall for time without appearing to be thinking too hard, Ben got two cups this time. He passed one to the captain. "Do you think that your inability might be related to not knowing what aspect of her you wish to discuss the issue with? I've noticed you compartmentalize her roles to a higher degree than one would expect. Referring to each other in third person, for example, when discussing yourselves as spouses while you're on duty, or vice versa. Have you tried approaching the first officer about it? Or Counselor Troi?"

Ben looked up from sipping his coffee to find a new expression on Picard's face. Amusement. His hazel eyes laughed quietly. "I hadn't thought about that. But she isn't a counselor -- she'd throw me out and make me come to you anyway."

The mental picture of Deanna Troi, even in her first officer role, throwing the captain out -- impossible. On the bridge, in staff meetings, in public when Ben had seen them together, the commander had never shown anything less than affectionate respect for the captain. "So it didn't occur to you to discuss it with her in any professional capacity, or even as a friend. That would seem to indicate where your focus might be -- what do you think?"

"You're saying that I can infer the difficulty is with my wife, not with my officer or my former counselor."

"I didn't say it, but you seem to be struggling with that aspect of your relationship with her. I notice in the dream scenarios you mentioned, Deanna was present some of the time, but not as your wife. The common theme is losing her, but in some dreams she is present in other capacities. Is she present in any of them as your wife but not your officer?"

"No." He sipped the tea in his hand absently. "Interesting."

"Captain?"

His eyes flicked up to meet Ben's at last. "Counselor?"

"What do you feel is at risk right now?"

"Deanna," he replied without hesitation.

"Her well-being, or her presence aboard your ship? Is there something you aren't telling me that would explain why you fear her departure?"

"I don't fear her departure. She wouldn't leave. She thought about it, long ago, but not since we've been together -- she would never leave me."

That solid conviction of his. Ben wondered about that. "You can't think of a single circumstance under which she might decide to leave."

Picard stared at him -- he'd lost all semblance of good humor, and seemed to be getting angry. Not that it showed that much. "No. I can't."

"You feel Deanna is at risk. You fear her absence. Is there anything that would explain why you subconsciously believe she will somehow disappear?" Ben thought about what he knew of the captain's family -- then a light went on. Of course!

"I suppose knowing the dangers of being in space too well, and knowing she could be killed -- but I've dealt with that. I knew that going into the relationship. Why it would be such an issue now. . . ."

"How many times in your life have you experienced a loss of a loved one?"

"More times than I like to admit. If you counted imagined. . . ." Immediately, his eyes fell, and the liquid in the cup he held in his fingers before him seemed to have his full attention. "I've done it, too. Bloody hell. I've done it too."

"Done what, Captain?"

"Generalized from past experience. Taken emotional reactions from prior incidents with similarities to the present circumstance and projected it forward -- no wonder I haven't been able to reason it out."

"It appears the patient has initiated self-counseling subroutines, and is likely to continue the session on a conscious level until resolution is reached." Ben set aside his half-empty coffee cup. "See you on the bridge, Captain."

But the captain didn't get up right away. He sank back in his chair, his cup balanced on his leg. "How do I know that was a correct assumption? What if it's something else?"

"Do you think it's something else, and if so, what else is it?"

Picard tapped the side of the cup with a finger, then raised an eyebrow. "I can't see what else it could be."

"You've reached a conclusion. I would suggest discussing this with your wife, now that you've found some rational basis for your dreaming, and if you need further assistance you know where I am." Ben mimicked the captain's more relaxed posture and steepled his hands on the desk. "Counselor Troi said you were an easy patient to deal with, once your internal diagnostic circuitry is aligned properly."

Picard smiled at that, shook his head once, and sniffed. "She said that, hm? I doubt she would have said that ten years ago. Thank you, Counselor." He rose and left the cup on the edge of the desk.

When the door had closed behind the captain, Ben turned off the recorder. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, deep in thought. Time would tell whether any of that had been accurate in the slightest.

Knowing something about expectant parents in general and combining that with what he knew of his superiors and their idiosyncrasies, he suspected he should practice curling up under his desk.

\---------------

The lift opened. Ventana came onto the bridge, and of course, the obnoxiously-proper first officer announced 'captain on the bridge' and brought everyone to attention. It happened every time, and it was beginning to annoy Ro to no end.

She chafed at the level of formality on this vessel. Her last assignment, the *Enterprise*, had been less strict than this, and Picard ran a tight ship. From her seat at one of the secondary stations along the back of the bridge, she watched the captain take his place. Ventana was a pale shade of a starship captain.

She exchanged a look with Desa, her fellow Maquis -- one of the few left. What information they'd picked up during their brief time on the *Renton* seemed to confirm what they'd guessed, that they were the last cell in existence, and that Starfleet had still looked for them, though it hadn't been a priority. The Feds believed that eventually the refugees would have to come out of hiding. Well, they'd found them. Sector four four one had provided a safe haven for a while, but only until those skinheaded bastards, the Son'a, showed up.

"We've got to get off this ship," Desa whispered, her lisp slurring the words almost beyond recognition. The Caitian had been an unlikely recruit, but an excellent one. Her amber eyes were expressive only to those who knew how to read them. Ro knew she was frightened, though she kept her tail from twitching.

Ro shook her head once and glanced at the tactical officer's back. Desa's pointed ears flattened against her head. She turned to the console that they'd been given limited access to, tapped a command, and mapped another planet.

That she mapped it incorrectly was only known to Ro.

They had to get off this ship. Hopefully, Sarah would have the plan in progress, and they would soon be under way.

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 2

Jean-Luc stepped into the lift and smiled at its occupants, a handful of lieutenants from sciences and one engineer. All conversation stopped for the duration of the ride and resumed when he left; the hint of excitement in the girl's voice as the doors closed made him glance down the back of his pants for stray laundry items. He'd found another of Dee's bras in a boot that morning -- perhaps she'd gone further and put negligee in his drawer.

Relieved to find nothing, he continued down the side of the bridge and found Deanna in his chair. She was accepting a padd from an ensign. When she got up, he turned for the ready room, and she followed without hesitation, reading his intent.

"Performance reviews," she said, as they entered the room and he headed for the replicator. "deLio beat me to it. I didn't even have to ask once. Geordi's another matter."

"He's never liked doing them. Will said it was because he disliked trying to be critical of people he thought of as friends." Jean-Luc came out of the replicator alcove with a glass of water and a fudge brownie. Putting them in front of her on the edge of his desk, he sat down and reached for his viewscreen.

"Will was probably right. It isn't easy to be completely objective about people you like." She took the brownie and trimmed off a portion with the fork. "Ben tells me he's already setting up appointments with the senior staff -- I'm supposed to talk to him this afternoon. I wish he weren't intimidated by me."

"So many people are. I'd think you would be used to that." He brought up the reports they'd been discussing the previous day, knowing when she finished this they'd be returning to the discussion.

"Ben is supposed to be conducting our psych reviews."

Jean-Luc glanced at her. She tucked another bite of brownie in her mouth and took up the padd from her lap, missing with her first grab thanks to the result of nine months of gestation blocking her view. Smiling, Jean-Luc said, "He told me there will be another counselor coming aboard to do yet another review, of us and how we interact with the crew."

"I'm concerned about Ben's ability to be objective. If there's too wide a disparity between his reports and the independent counselor's work, there will be further investigation." Deanna looked up from her brownie, resting the dish on her padd on top of her belly.

"We haven't discussed crew concerns as pertains to our relationship in a while. Is that because we haven't paid attention, or because there are no issues? And stop using my son for a dining room table."

"I have always paid attention. We've been doing well. The new cadets are the worst of it, and the last group settled a week or so after they arrived. Of course, we'll be offloading that group and taking on another shortly." She sighed and ate another bite of brownie, ignoring his comment about using Yves as a table. {My friend Zara at Command tells me some of the admirals have been asking questions about the Gaines incident. The investigation may be over, but now that it's made public that something occurred, there's a lot of conjecture going on.}

{Zara.} He turned to the screen and studied the text there, bringing up the records of the last repairs performed after an encounter with a rough ride through a turbulent nebula.

{Mekiledes. A friend from my Academy days. We keep in touch, though we often go a few months between messages. She works in administration, where she hears a lot of murmurings going on around her. She heard Nechayev defending someone to another admiral as they crossed a courtyard, and your name was dropped.}

Jean-Luc's lips tightened at the mention of Nechayev. {As long as she's defending me. . . or was she?}

{Zara couldn't say.} Deanna set the dish on the desk and held up the padd. "Astrometrics has been reporting better-than-expected range gains since our last refit. We should be concluding our survey slightly ahead of schedule." {Is everything all right, Jean-Fish? You seem unsettled.}

Jean-Luc scrolled through the data on the sensor upgrades. {We need to talk, Dee. I need to find a way to protect us.}

It made her put down the padd and look directly at him, wide-eyed. She caught herself a few seconds later. "Geordi also tells me he's managed to boost shields by five percent. We can anticipate further gains. Batris is in one of his inventive moods, and spends more than his fair share of time in the holodeck running simulations. Geordi's given him license to do so."

"Have we seen results yet on the testing of the altered metaphasic shielding program?"

"Geordi and Ward want another run of tests before they make final reports. Another series is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon." {What are we protecting ourselves from?}

Jean-Luc stared unseeing at his screen, jaw set, tapping a fingertip on the desktop thoughtfully. {How long has it been since the last communique from Command regarding our status as married officers?}

{At least three months. You're worried.}

{You know the rumors as well as I. The general sense I've gleaned from various sources is that our crew's acceptance and good performance notwithstanding, the consensus is that we are a temporary situation -- a ticking bomb. With the exception of a few admirals who believe we can manage well enough, by and large most of our peers and quite a few at Command expect us to prove conclusively that intimate relationships between officers on the same bridge are unworkable. They won't have had to fight with us or anyone supporting us -- we'll hang ourselves, with no effort expended on their parts.}

He could feel her thinking, a tickle on the edges of awareness thanks to their bond. He could even guess what she thought about. Last month, after reading through the news net articles, he and Deanna had arrived at the conclusion that part of the reason Command had allowed the Command Experiment, the marriage of the first officer and captain on a ship, to take place had been in part to combat the raging debate over the direction Starfleet would take now that the Dominion War was in the past. The number of positive articles referring to the successes of Captain Picard and his wife -- working together without compromise of the professional relationship -- had increased. They were not only two of Starfleet's finest, but their openly-acknowledged relationship proved that they didn't belong to a military organization. No militaristic structure would permit such a liaison. The command structure may have been adopted from Terran models, but Command did not regulate personal relationships in any way so long as they did not interfere in the performance of duty.

Keeping the fleet from becoming an aggressive military force rather than a peace-keeping organization by reputation would be difficult. Command maintained the primary goal was exploration of the galaxy and expansion of the peaceful organization called the Federation. Hard to prove, considering the advanced weaponry showing up on the ships warping out of the shipyards. With the Borg still a threat and the uneasy early contact with the Randra Alliance, there was ample reason for defensive measures, but when the battleships outnumbered the science vessels, what were people supposed to believe?

The longer they continued as married officers sharing the same bridge, the more of the ramifications became clear -- the more often subtle complications cropped up. How the admirals viewed them, for example. How other officers viewed them. Many of the non-human officers had difficulty understanding the fuss, but most of the humans were the opposite. And the fleet remained mostly staffed by humans, from the many colonies and Earth itself, especially since the war.

She studied the padd, or seemed to. {What are they going to do if we prove the opposite, that we can handle it long-term?}

{Smile and say they knew all along that we would manage it. Which doesn't make it any easier in the meantime. Ben's review doesn't concern me. I'd say odds are in favor of the counselor they send being telepathic.} Jean-Luc looked up at her. "We have three more days of survey to complete before we're to head in to transfer cadets. Are we prepared for the next group?"

"The roster arrived last week. I've been reviewing transcripts and personnel records. We have four outgoing transfers, two from sciences, one from engineering, one from sickbay. I've highlighted my recommendations for replacements for your review."

He turned from the screen, resting his arms on the desk. "So you'll be going in for review first?"

"Yes, sir. Counselor Davidson intends to have you in first thing in the morning."

Swiveling his chair, he regarded the stars outside as if they might hold an answer or two to bothersome questions. "It should be interesting to see his report. We've got on rather well, I think. Barring a few arguments that could have been avoided."

"Only if you hadn't been stubborn, sir."

"The y'Rigans have more respect for men -- "

"The y'Rigans have no gender-determining outward physical characteristics and they hadn't encountered humans before. Who is to say they would not have mistaken me for male?" She tilted her head and smiled serenely -- that old teasing expression of hers.

"Commander, we wanted the disabled freighter and its crew back, and it took two hours to negotiate -- "

"During which time they could have decided to lead you to the captured crew, and forced you to join them, and I would have had to deal with them anyway. I had the advantage because of my empathy. I could have avoided a fist fight."

Jean-Luc rubbed his nose, remembering. "So you believe. The head y'Rigan seemed determined to start something."

They fell silent, sitting in the ready room indulging in the privacy of their own thoughts. He watched the stars streaking by -- warp one to the next system, a star with a few lifeless planets and an asteroid belt.

Davidson was doing reviews. Her first, then him -- was that a reflection of having spoken to Jean-Luc earlier that morning? Maybe Davidson just wanted to get the most intimidating interview out of the way. The counselor had worked with Deanna as a subordinate since his assignment to the *Enterprise* and probably knew well enough what an empath could detect. No surprise that he'd feel intimidated. Even after deliberately inviting her to react to him, even after nearly two years of intimacy, Jean-Luc still felt that sometimes himself.

What would the counselor's report contain? Davidson spent quite a lot of time on the bridge with them; no qualms about their performance there. Dee had been professional from start to finish, even though there had been hundreds of opportunities to giggle at his inadvertent blunders when roles had been shuffled in the wake of Data's departure. For his part, Jean-Luc knew he'd been the captain every time he'd set foot on the bridge. The husband had stayed where he belonged, back in their quarters, except for those twinges of worry when they were apart. Or when he let parts of the husband peek out while in other areas of the ship -- no one could manage a complete separation of roles, as Deanna would be quick to point out.

He couldn't imagine what negatives Davidson could find. Even their arguments remained distinct -- as a wife she never brought up the few professional disagreements they'd had, and certainly the first officer never brought up the petty squabbles they indulged in while in the privacy of their quarters.

"It's been an interesting ten months," she said quietly, echoing part of what he'd thought about. She referred to her time as first officer. Something she was still adjusting to, and doing very well at.

"It isn't fair to compare, I suppose. But if I had to assign rank, you would be my second favorite first officer." He worked to keep the smile out of his voice.

"Only the second favorite? Would the first be Will? Or Data?"

"It's a tie."

"Captain. It's a good thing I know you're teasing."

He turned the chair around again, permitting a grin. "I suppose so. You might tell my wife how much time I spend alone with you, otherwise."

"Not that she would inflict much damage if I did. She's already aware that you've had too many sleepless nights lately." Her amusement faded. "She's a bit worried about you, you know."

Jean-Luc bowed his head at that. "If you were still my counselor, would you say I'm mentally fit?"

"Yes. Are you worried that you aren't?" More amusement tipped up the corners of her mouth. "Crazy people generally don't recognize their insanity, if that's any consolation."

"The dreams have been somewhat disturbing. Although Counselor Davidson informs me that it's common for expectant fathers to experience such things."

Deanna's eyes softened, her expression reminding him of the days gone by when she had sat in that chair as Counselor Troi and patiently worked with him, counseling or preparing for a diplomatic mission. "That's true. But you've dreamed of so many different things -- last night it was Eline."

He met her gaze, shocked. "How did you know that?" he murmured at last. "Have our efforts at creating a more telepathic bond gone to that extent, that you can read my thoughts without my intent?"

"I recognized the emotions. You have very definite patterns of emotion when you think of certain things. I can tell when you think of the Borg, for example. I can also tell when you think of old friends, aboard the last *Enterprise.* You haven't thought of Ressik in a long time, and there was a new emotion present."

"Guilt." No sense in avoiding the confession of what she already knew. That much he'd learned well, over the past two years especially.

"You spoke to the counselor about it this morning -- what sort of resolution did you find?"

He smiled, shaking his head slowly. She must have sensed the emotional echoes from the session with Davidson and guessed who he would be talking to -- if not her, then the ship's counselor, because he wouldn't share it with anyone else. "I'm glad you're on my side, Commander. You would think after all this time I would be accustomed to your being so many steps ahead of me."

"I don't usually pay such close attention, frankly, but as I said, I've been worried," she said.

"We'll talk about it later. How are you feeling today?"

"Fit. A little sore in places, but nothing unexpected. Yves seems to have granted a reprieve and let me have a little more energy than usual."

Jean-Luc mused again over his officer/wife, how unusual and wonderful it was to have her with him in this setting. Just two years before he would have scoffed if anyone had told him it was possible to form such a partnership as this. The immense satisfaction this arrangement brought him kept him optimistic -- he had been in Starfleet all his adult life, in command for two-thirds of that time, and never realized how hollow it could be. As long as he didn't think about anything beyond their world, the ship and its crew, he could be happy.

He turned to his screen again and prompted her for a continuation of official business, trying to imagine the Deanna Troi of five years ago speaking so casually about the technicalities of a starship -- then suffered consequences for his unspoken tangent.

"Captain, what's so amusing?"

He pressed his lips together and raised an eyebrow, not expressing the amusement she knew he felt. The staredown took a few minutes; she sighed and returned to business. Her tolerant smile didn't reach her voice, but it put happy stars in her eyes. They finished their business without further interruption. A pause, as they looked at each other, speaking with eyes only the things they couldn't allow themselves to voice while under the onus of professionalism. Then she rose and excused herself to her duties.

After she left, he got more tea and brought up the next item on his agenda. The Basics of Caring for the Newborn, chapter four, the needs of the mother. Not exactly ship's business, but not unrelated. In his case, the chapter could be retitled the needs of the first officer.

\---------------

"Do you feel you would perform any differently under a different CO?" Ben asked, glancing up from his notes. "Commander, are you all right?"

The review was going as he expected -- calm, matter-of-fact, uneventful. Until now. Deanna had a tense frown, and seemed to be completely distracted by her thoughts. She looked up a moment later. "Sorry. Yes, fine, just experiencing a little indigestion. No, I don't believe I would. I did spend a few weeks aboard the *Mephistopheles,* remember, and the captain was Vulcan -- he found my performance 'adequate.' Which, to anyone else, means he found me efficient and capable."

"If you were offered promotion and reassignment, would you consider it?"

She did a double-take at the question. "I've only been first officer for less than a year. I hadn't even thought about that. I would consider it, but it would depend on so many things -- I would have to discuss it with my husband, of course, and assess the opportunity itself."

"You are happy aboard the *Enterprise*?"

"Of course. I've always enjoyed working with Captain Picard."

Ben hesitated over the next question. The list had been passed down to him with some leeway for phrasing and any clarifications he might ask for, but Starfleet Medical wanted his assessment to include some pretty specific details. The counselor they were sending later would ask a different set with a different slant, and the whole process made him uneasy.

"Do you feel that your marriage has at any time caused a conflict of interest affecting any of your duties, no matter how insignificant?"

Deanna steepled her fingers over the top of her belly. "I think that I have been more conscientious than I would have to keep the personal from affecting the professional because of it. I don't recall anything that I believed presented a conflict of interest."

"Do you recall the incident with the y'Rigans?"

"Yes."

"Did you disagree with the captain's handling of that situation because you felt he was favoring you due to your condition and your relationship to him?"

"If I were Ward Carlisle's wife and pregnant, he would have had similar difficulty assigning the mission to me. Plus he knew the y'Rigans did not respect women, and that it would affect negotiations if they found out I was female. His priority was the recovery of the crew of the disabled ship and his decision was made on the basis of what he believed to be the fastest and best way of retrieving them. I disagreed with him based on what I perceived as a danger to the welfare of my commanding officer."

"So your argument was completely grounded in those motivations."

"Yes."

"Did you capitulate out of your own concern for your unborn child?"

"I questioned the captain's judgment and he overrode it. I repeated my assertion once more, and he insisted that his intervention was necessary. I suggested that if he were motivated by my gravid state to not allow me to go myself, he should send Mr. Carlisle or Mr. deLio. The y'Rigans requested the commanding officer, he said, and he had already contacted them. It was in the best interests of the hostages to go himself. A substitute negotiator would be at a disadvantage from the beginning."

Ben didn't think she'd rehearsed any of these answers, but she spoke as if explaining it to a child. It felt that way to him, anyway. He let it go. "Did you feel confident that you could have negotiated with them? How did it feel to have him disregarding your suggestions?"

"The captain had reasons for disregarding my suggestions. It wasn't a case of personal motivation, so my taking it personally would have been inappropriate -- I felt that he was acting as he thought he should, and that he was motivated by his own reasoning and intuition as an officer. As for whether I could have done the job, I've participated in many negotiations before. I could have dealt with the y'Rigans." Her serene smile widened to puckishness. "They wouldn't have been so difficult to negotiate with as my husband, after all."

"Captain Picard is difficult for you to negotiate with?"

"No. My husband is. The captain always considers the opinions of his officers. He can be less flexible in personal matters."

This was news. Ben had somehow imagined paradise in the privacy of the Picards' quarters -- but perhaps that was a byproduct of watching their professional interactions. She was right, the captain always gave her a polite ear, even if she disagreed with him.

"The husband is less flexible than the captain."

"In some respects. More flexible in others." A corner of her mouth quirked slyly.

"Hm." Sounded like somewhere he didn't need to go, though it made him curious. "Commander, what would you do in the event the captain made a decision that went against Starfleet regulations, or against orders from his superiors?"

Her smile dwindled. "That would depend upon the circumstance. He has done both, you know, in a few instances that were justified."

"What would you do in the event he was clearly in the wrong?"

"There is something I've learned about right and wrong and the application of regulations to specific situations," she said. "In some cases, the regulations are wrong. So it would depend upon the circumstances."

"You're saying that the captain has the right to decide when regulations are wrong?"

"There are some instances when obeying orders or regulations violates the larger goals and principles of the Federation as a whole. Specific rules can't always apply -- to explore space is to confront the unknown. No one can foresee what we might come up against out here."

"But you would agree that following regulations and obeying orders should be the rule, and not the exception." Ben folded his hands again, not liking the way he'd begun to strop them across the legs of his pants. This shouldn't be making him this nervous.

"Absolutely. The captain knows regulations very well. So do I." Deanna smiled as if trying to reassure him. As if she were the counselor.

He studied the list of questions again, trying to regain composure and wishing he weren't evaluating these two officers. The captain was a likable sort, if a little distant. Ben liked Deanna -- he'd always liked her, from the day he'd come aboard as her subordinate, and at one point entertained a fleeting thought of something more, but he'd never followed up on it. And then a year later he'd found out she'd struck up this relationship with the captain, on the day she'd turned over his personal files to Ben. 'I can no longer be the captain's personal counselor,' she had said. When he asked why, she had said, without flinching or looking away, 'because I love him' -- and her smile had openly expressed the happiness that gave her.

They'd discussed the difficulties that a relationship between her and the captain might cause. Little had Ben known what was to come. He'd thought her naive, in spite of her experience -- that she was being short-sighted and too much under the influence of her emotions. Now he felt inadequate to judge either of them.

Feelings shouldn't enter into it. Bracing himself, he looked up with a smile. "Do you feel there are any instances in which your relationship has altered the crew's reactions to orders?"

\---------------

Natalia glanced up from the helm at the viewscreen. Watching the stars could be hypnotic. She let herself watch for a few minutes and forced her eyes back to the panel in front of her, where the changing readouts were nearly as hypnotic.

The captain was in a fair mood today, though he seemed pensive. Ward chatted with him about children, specifically his daughter when she was a toddler. Then Commander Troi came back from her appointment, reclaimed her seat, and silence fell.

It happened often when both of them were on the bridge. Rumor had it they communicated telepathically -- Natalia thought so, and had more reason to believe than most. Spending any off duty time with them would give one that impression. A quick glance over her shoulder at his face, not hers, and Natalia could tell the first officer's review with the counselor had gone well.

Natalia smiled -- everything was going better than she'd ever imagined. Even if parts of the job were humdrum, there were a lot of things about being on the *Enterprise* she wouldn't trade for anything. Difficult to know which she felt better about -- making friends with her commanding officer, or getting his approval, which were definitely not the same thing. Anyone who had seen how hard Commander Troi had to work knew that.

She couldn't wait for the baby to make his appearance -- she'd been guaranteed babysitting duty, and had spent time with one of the doctors asking questions so she'd be ahead of the game when the occasion arose.

She risked another glance. Deanna was rubbing her belly. She already looked ready to burst. Supposedly there were a few weeks left, but that was by Betazoid timetables -- Yves was mostly human. Natalia had placed her bets in the pools and started one of her own on the color of his eyes. She'd bet on a due date that split the difference between human and Betazoid gestational periods, on human eyes, and on a boy, though she'd not put much money in the gender pool since she'd already known. The lion's share went on the color of his eyes.

Not long now.

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 3

Jean-Luc entered his quarters and, as expected, found Deanna asleep in the rocking chair in the nursery. She'd curled up in that chair with a padd every night for the past two weeks and had fallen asleep nine of those times. It looked uncomfortable but she didn't seem to care; with pillows jammed behind her head and her body turned slightly to the left, she'd covered herself with that old quilt she'd brought back from Betazed and nodded off. The padd lay on the floor directly under her hand, which drooped off the end of the left arm of the chair.

He glanced around the room and left everything as he found it. She'd started going through the accumulating toys in one corner, leaving them scattered across the floor, and he didn't want to make the same mistake as before and put them away. She had organized them into keepers and those she would put in storage, as there were too many to keep out, and he had no idea which were which. Crew members were leaving them at the door anonymously. Tempting to do a scan for trace cellular residue and see if they couldn't discover who had left the stuffed targ with the noticeably-shaved head -- anonymous teasing of the old burrhog, perhaps.

While he replicated something for dinner, a quiet chirp interrupted; he had modified the comm tone within their quarters, to prevent waking her any more than necessary. "Picard here," he said softly as he placed a plate on the table.

"This is Mendez -- sir, we've received a distress call from the *Lexington.*"

"I'm on my way." He hesitated, contemplating the food, and decided no trace of his having been there was better. Snatching the roll, he recycled the rest and left at a running walk.

Mendez stood aside and Ramos, the tactical officer of the watch, replayed the message. Jean-Luc stood in the middle of his bridge and felt his heart sinking into his stomach at the weak, interference-cluttered message.

". . . . day, mayday, this is. . . Captain Rike. . . der attack, repeat, und. . . ack, we are in sector four. . . anyone, we. . . aband. . . the son. . . ."

"It's repeating. Positive i.d., the message is using the *Lexington*'s code signature. It may be an emergency buoy, it's very weak. Can't get it to come in clearer than that, sorry, sir, but I do have a fix. . . ." Ramos trailed his fingers across the console. "Sector four four one, not far off our current heading. We may have picked up the signal as we came into range. I doubt it's strong enough to reach any subspace transceiver."

"Plot a course to intercept. Warp eight." Jean-Luc took his place and gave his uniform a tug. Hopefully, as they got closer, the message would be clearer. Hopefully they would find Will before the worst happened.

\---------------

Ben slipped on the other glove and held up his hands. Over the table appeared the holo-construct as it loaded from his saved game from yesterday. Redman's Folly wasn't for the faint of heart, but he'd made it to level three.

Reaching and grasping with his fingers, he 'felt' the simulated control yoke in his hands vibrate to life. The construct solidified into a cockpit window with stars, complete with paned viewport and control readouts. Half his fuel was gone. The attack sled had engine damage, shields were down to three-quarters, but he only had two enemy ships left on this level.

He was swinging the cross-hairs to bear on the second weaving, darting, desperate ship when yellow alert klaxons made him jump. The convulsive squeeze shot everything he had at the holo-enemy -- and missed. Then the little blue ship flipped neatly and flares of orange enveloped the cockpit and momentarily blinded him.

"Damn, damn, damn!" He tore off the gloves and threw them on the floor. "Computer, restore game to last saved version, store in Davidson private programs."

On the way up from deck ten, the lift doors opened on eight, and Deanna came in, looking like she'd just woke up. Frowning, she rolled her shoulder and yawned. She glanced at him. "This isn't going to be anything good -- we changed course and went to high warp earlier."

"We did? I must've been too caught up in my game." He paused, then noticed the questioning look in her eyes. "Redman's Folly."

"Ah. That's been making the rounds. I believe Lieutenant Jamramis started the fad. I tried to play it but it's a little too intense for me at the moment. We just dropped out of warp." She was in motion as the doors opened, and Ben followed her out, wondering how long he'd have to be aboard before he could actually feel changes in the movement of the ship.

deLio was already there, and Greenman was back at the helm. Ward Carlisle came off the aft lift looking rumpled and displaced the lieutenant at ops. As Ben sat down, he noticed Picard stare at his first officer briefly, then subside at once.

"Our position?" the captain demanded. "Any sign of the *Lexington*?"

"Negative," deLio said. "We are within 6,000 kilometers of the estimated position of the emergency buoy. It has stopped transmitting. It may have been destroyed by natural phenomena. There would appear to be a great deal of turbulence ahead of us."

"This region is full of all kinds of interference. Interstellar dust, metreon gas -- it's going to be impossible to use the warp drive if we go into the Briar Patch." Ward glanced over his shoulder as he spoke.

"The what?" Deanna asked.

"That's what the computer notes it as being called -- there's a survey ship in the area, an Oberth class, the *Renton.* Starfleet is still studying and mapping the sector."

Picard tapped the arm of his chair thoughtfully. "Any traces of anyone passing through this area? Subspace distortions, debris from a battle?"

"Looks pretty well traveled for an empty sector. No signs of anything but normal warp travel -- no debris or any sign of battle. I'd guess the ships actually went into the Briar Patch, but they couldn't travel more than one third impulse without overloading the engines." Ward glanced back at the captain. "Neither can we."

"deLio, try hailing anyone in the sector. See if you get any answers."

Ben finally identified what wasn't quite right with this situation. The bridge was too calm. The captain too collected. Then Ben remembered that the *Lexington* was Will Riker's ship, and he'd been a good friend and shipmate of both the captain and his wife.

He watched their faces, composed but with a tension about both their mouths.

"No answer, on any frequency." deLio's report didn't seem to surprise anyone.

"Mr. deLio, what's the last known location of the *Lexington*?" Deanna asked.

A moment while the L'norim consulted the computer. "Sector five three two, until they were called to this sector on behalf of Admiral Dougherty, who requested assistance from Command. There is no indication of what Admiral Dougherty is doing in this sector."

"Dougherty," the captain murmured. He straightened, tugging his uniform and inhaling sharply. "Well. Is there an indication of what ship he is on?"

"The only ships listed as assigned to this sector are the *Renton,* the *Mirage,* and the *Lexington.* Additional support has been requested by the admiral, and the *Venture* is responding."

Again, there was a silent exchange of glances between captain and first officer. "Take us into the Briar Patch, one third impulse," Picard exclaimed. "Continue hails, of the *Lexington,* the *Mirage,* the *Renton,* and the *Venture.*"

\---------------

The shuttle reached the edge of the Briar Patch and shot into open space. Ro's fingers flew across the panels while the small vessel trembled like a leaf in the wind. The damage incurred by their desperate measures was too great.

"Gary!" she shouted over the rattle of loose fixtures and the whine of the impulse engines. "We need more power!"

"We're losing it!" Sarah clung to the edge of the sensor console, wild-eyed as she turned to Ro. "We're losing impulse, and the warp engines are still offline!"

"Damn foolish thing to do!" Gary yelled from the back of the shuttle where he had been attempting rerouting of any available power to engines and life support. "You had to push it -- we went too fast!"

"We had to get away from them! What did you want, to stick around and let a bunch of *scientists* catch us again? Just -- " Ro programmed swiftly, saving her energy. "Mayday, mayday! Anyone! Mayday! If anyone can hear me, this is Ro Laren -- please, get a message to Captain Picard on my behalf! Tell him it's happening again!"

"*WHAT are you DOING?*" Gary shrieked, losing it entirely. He flew forward, hands hitting all the wrong controls in his haste to cut her off.

"Get off me!"

The four of them wrestled while the shuttle screamed on at half impulse, engines going critical and shaking them around as Desa sprang from the back and tried to help Sarah pry Gary off Ro. The comm crackled, and all of them froze as a masculine reply came through.

"This is the Federation starship *Venture* -- may we be of some assistance?"

"Yes! Yes! Assist, definitely -- those damned skinheads will be here any time!" Ro shouted, fighting free of her companions and clambering into the pilot's chair. "Give me a course heading!"

"Power down your engines. We're within sensor range, and you're about to blow yourselves to pieces. We'll come to you. You say you're looking for Captain Picard?"

Ro slapped at Gary before he could cut the transmission. "Desa, keep him away from the instruments! I don't care if you tie him up! My name's Ro Llaren. I used to be his helm officer. Who is this?" She powered down the shuttle, hoping the *Venture* was coming quick.

"Captain Thomas Glendenning. Jean-Luc hasn't mentioned you. How long ago?"

"You know, I'd really like to be safe and sound before we get cozy, Captain -- there's probably a bunch of ships out looking for me right now. Oh, Prophets!"

The *Venture* appeared, dropping out of warp, and she was *big.* Ro hadn't seen a ship like this in a while. Must be a newer class. This was what she got for being out of touch with Federation news net for so long. Stewing in a Cardie internment camp until the war ended had ensured she hadn't heard a word about the Federation.

"Prepare for tractor beam, we're bringing you in," Glendenning said cheerfully. "I'm looking forward to it -- haven't seen any Maquis in a long time. It'll be interesting to find out how you ended up out here in a class seven shuttlecraft that looks like it's been shot at. Even more interesting to find out why you're so happy to see us."

"I'd like to hear that too," Gary growled.

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 4

"Isn't it curious that Dougherty didn't request the *Enterprise?* We were closer to the Briar Patch. " Jean-Luc asked, returning from the replicator with the requested dish of ice cream for her dessert. They had eaten dinner in his ready room, mostly out of consideration for Yves. She hadn't really been hungry. Chocolate, on the other hand, was always welcome, appetite or no.

Deanna took the bowl from him and put a healthy bite of rocky road in her mouth before answering. "Have you ever met him?"

"I don't know him personally. Of him, yes. Captain Fesora commented once that Dougherty was. . . well, I won't quote him word for word. The gist of it was self-righteous and convinced of his own importance." He steepled his hands on his desk and looked out the viewport at the reddish glow of the Briar Patch. "There's no mention of the purpose of his presence here, and no listing for any ship of any class called the *Mirage* in the Starfleet registry. Apparently it's a privately-held vessel. I have to wonder what Command would find interesting about this region of space that they'd give Dougherty leeway to commandeer ship after ship -- and what was it that made Will send a distress call?"

The clink of Deanna's dish on the desk brought his attention back to her. She looked tired, sitting there deep in thought with her hands flat along the sides of her belly. "I still don't sense anything from Will, or anyone else other than the *Enterprise* crew. The message seemed to indicate abandoning ship. Perhaps a survey of inhabitable planets is in order."

"Slow as that will be. One third impulse is hardly moving at all. Nor do we have an accurate map of the sector -- that was what *Renton* was working on."

"I have Geordi working on ways to allow us more speed. He and Batris are running simulations on the holodeck as we speak." She sighed and looked down at Yves. "The question is, as you said, why he didn't call on us. He called Tom from another assignment -- helping a colony with fending off Ojeyv raiders. It doesn't make sense, unless. . . ."

"Unless?"

"There is no mention of what the admiral's goal is, which usually means something they want to keep quiet. If Tom is -- or was -- special ops, Dougherty may have known that, and called him instead. You've only gone on special ops missions on rare occasions where your expertise in some area recommended you for it."

They knew Tom well enough now to see that the captain had a skill set special ops would love any operative to have. There were hints that he'd at least been on a few missions; whether he'd been an operative on an ongoing basis wasn't certain. Jean-Luc considered pointing out that as a captain of long standing, he'd proven well enough his own trustworthiness. But, as he'd said, he didn't know Dougherty, and admirals could play favorites within reason. It was entirely possible that Dougherty knew Tom, and that the mission here was critical enough to warrant pulling him into it.

"Well, we have a lot of space to cover. Answers will come when we find Will or Dougherty, or both. You should get some sleep."

"I won't be able to sleep unless my husband's with me."

"As long as we're at yellow alert and looking for trouble. . . ." He studied her resolute expression. "Would you settle for napping on the couch?"

She glanced over her shoulder at the ready room couch. "It wouldn't be the first time. But I don't think I'll be able to sleep here, either."

He was gratified to see that she was wrong. While she snored quietly into a cushion, he studied the swirling gases outside his ready room viewport, thinking.

\---------------

Ben remembered halfway through breakfast that he was supposed to talk to the captain that morning. He checked on the bridge first thing. Picard didn't appear to have been to bed; he didn't look worse for wear, but Deanna looked rumpled as if she'd slept in her uniform. Both were leaning over the ops panel, where Ward sat once more. After stepping down from the red alert they'd gone to upon dropping out of warp, most of the senior staff had been dismissed pending recall if the need arose. It hadn't.

Picard glanced at Ben as he came down the ramp, then at Deanna. She met his gaze briefly then turned to take the center seat. The captain gestured at Ben and headed for the ready room.

Once inside, Ben cleared his throat quietly. "Good morning, sir. Any news?"

"Still searching. Would you mind if we talked here, instead of your office?"

Ben watched the captain stride to the replicator. "Of course not, sir. I was going to ask if you'd rather do this another time, actually. I understand Captain Riker is a friend of yours."

"A good friend, but we would be as concerned about any other ship -- Starfleet can't afford more losses and we certainly can't afford another conflict of any duration. Something to drink?"

"No, thank you." Ben sat down and rested his padd on his crossed legs. He waited for the captain to sit down with his tea.

"I'd like to get this over with, I think," the captain said. "You may not have another opportunity for a while if we don't."

"Well, then, we'll get started. First, why don't you tell me how you feel about Deanna Troi?"

He frowned. "Which one?"

He meant which role, but Ben wasn't going to do that -- he needed an inclusive answer. "There is to my knowledge only one Deanna Troi aboard."

A smirk, and brief shake of the head. "I find that question too personal to answer."

"But it's relevant. She answered the same question easily enough. I would think that -- "

"You're asking me to put into words something that, for me, has no finite definition. There is no answer for that question that would adequately convey the reality. Ask me how I feel about my first officer. That, I can answer."

Ben wished for his desk so he could curl up under it, but the padd was on and recording, and this was, as the captain said, probably his only opportunity to do this before the ship became embroiled in the crisis at hand. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to try to answer the question as I asked it."

The captain's faint, cynical smile twisted into determined pleasantness-under-duress. "I suppose I shall have to, then. I feel. . . pride, in her accomplishments, because she is and has been a subordinate for many years, and in that time I've seen her undergo significant growth and improvement as an officer. Pride in her performance in spite of the other aspects of our relationship."

He paused to sip tea. His expression was turning into that thoughtful one signifying he'd gotten past initial irritation and begun to invest himself in cooperating. "I trust her implicitly. I think. . . ."

He turned away, swiveling the chair slowly. Ben recognized this as one of those difficult spots for the captain to verbalize and let him work through it.

"I would not be alive if not for her," Picard said at last. "I've said that before. But it always overwhelms me to think of it. If she hadn't been there. . . ."

And he was gone again, thinking in silence whatever deep private thoughts he had. Ben wished he could just move on to questions with less difficult answers, but he needed more of an answer than this.

"Have you read much classic Terran literature, Counselor?"

Ben blinked. "The required reading in my Academy classes, of course. And some beyond that -- a smattering of Shakespeare, Wilde, and Webber when I was part of an amateur theatrical group in San Francisco, modern translations of Chaucer and some late twentieth century science fiction -- Asimov, Niven, Clarke and a few others. Why do you ask?"

"An attempt at a common frame of reference. There is, in much of Terran literature, a fascination with the idea of lovers destined for each other. One story after another about lovers seeking their happily ever after, whether they attain it or not -- Romeo and Juliet, and any number of other Shakespearean romances or tragedies. Humans tend to idealize the romance -- the notion of finding that one person with whom you fall passionately in love, and with whom you spend the rest of your life." The chair turned slightly in Ben's direction, but only long enough for the captain to retrieve his cup of tea. "I acknowledged long ago that the lifestyle I chose was not conducive to such relationships. The women I have met over the years were inevitably other officers, with few exceptions. They no more wished to complicate their careers than I wished to complicate mine. A wife and children were not in my plan."

"Are you comparing your relationship with Deanna to the ideal romance?"

Picard's laughter startled Ben. "Oh, not in any classical sense. But ideal for me. Because she's much more than a wife, you see. She told me fairly early that she knew I would never be satisfied with any woman with less drive or purpose than I had. She was right. I hadn't thought about it until it became reality, but the fact that we have so many common goals and motivations has only served to strengthen our relationship."

"So you are proud of her. You trust her implicitly. You see her as your equal in purpose and strength. I gather you have considerable respect for her as an officer?"

"Definitely." He pondered a moment and nodded to himself. "The point I was driving at, Counselor, is that possibly because we may not have an ideal romance in the classical sense, it works, in both the personal and professional arenas."

"What would you do if she were offered a promotion, and her own command?"

Long silence. The captain didn't move for the duration. "I would encourage her to consider it, of course."

"Even if it meant she might be separated from you?"

"That won't happen."

Again, that refusal to acknowledge the possibility of her leaving. "Because she wouldn't leave, or because you wouldn't let her?"

The captain turned to face him and placed the cup on the desk. "Neither. We will not be separated."

"Is that because she wouldn't allow it, or because you -- "

"When we began the relationship, there were doubts," the captain interjected smoothly. "As it progressed the doubts disappeared. We are, for however long it is possible, captain and first officer. When that is no longer possible we will consider our options then -- but separation isn't one of them. We have common goals and principles, we are dedicated to our duty and to each other, and we hold one another responsible when there is any question of compromising duty, goal or principle."

"If she saw that you wished her to remain with you, in spite of your assertion that she should consider a promotion and her own ship, and there were no way for you to remain in Starfleet and stay together -- "

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. There is no question that we will stay together, so such a scenario wouldn't exist."

"Captain, cooperate with me for a moment, please. If she were offered her own ship, would you encourage her to take it?"

"Of course. If it's what she wants, she should have it."

"But if it were to take her from you -- "

"How long do you think I've been in Starfleet, Counselor?"

Ben chewed his tongue. "I'm sorry, I don't recall."

"More than fifty years now. I've been declared dead a few times, court martialed, gone undercover, gone backwards and forwards in time. There is no such thing as impossible, Counselor. Only things we cannot yet do. I may be separated from her temporarily, but we will not be separated long term. I don't care about the details -- we'll worry about them when and if such an occasion arises."

The beginnings of another Picard-induced headache throbbed in Ben's forehead. "You would encourage her to further her career but you will not be separated from her. All right. What would you do if the only options were seeing her leave, or resigning to follow her?"

"If I were forced to resort to resigning to be with her, she would resign as well. She is as dedicated to preserving my career as she is to her own."

"I don't see how both of you resigning equates with being dedicated -- "

"If I were forced to choose between her and my career, my choice would depend on her circumstance. I would likely create a third option."

"Captain, I realize -- "

"No. You don't. I told you at the outset that it was impossible to tell you how I feel about Deanna. She is my third option, Counselor. She is my career, my wife, and my motivation. Starfleet doesn't have to understand it to know it works. All they need to know is that both of us will serve, so long as we can, to the best of our abilities."

This wasn't going nearly as well as Deanna's session. She hadn't leaned across the desk as if intent on forcing Ben to accept the answers to his questions. "She's your career?"

He winced. "Poor phrasing. You recognize that if either one of us makes a mistake, it could mean the end of both our careers. That if I were to do something for what I perceived as objective reasons, that could appear to have been personally motivated. . . . We are in this together, for as long as we're allowed. We work well together. Shouldn't that be enough?"

"If she were to die in the line of duty, would you be able to function effectively to carry out the mission?"

Resorting to asking the questions out of order was desperation, but from the defensive posture the captain was taking and the difficulty he was having with answering the first one, the session would have gone downhill from there anyway. The captain went completely still for a few moments, staring at nothing.

"I would," he replied at last. "Because she expects it of me."

Precisely the answer Deanna had given. But she hadn't had this devastated expression, nor had she lapsed into solemn silence for so long afterward.

"Would she be able to function, if the situation were reversed?"

"Yes," he murmured. His eyes came up to meet Ben's at last. "She's stronger than I am. She knows I would expect it."

Slightly different phrasing, but again, the same answer. Ben wondered if either of them realized how the other felt about this one thing. "If there were a situation in which you had to sacrifice the life of an officer and she was the best choice -- "

"I've answered that question over and over again, and the answer is the same. I've watched her go into potentially-fatal situations before, I'll probably watch her do it again. If it was a suicide mission she wouldn't hesitate and I wouldn't stop her. How many more questions are there?" The annunciator interrupted. "Come in!" the captain barked.

Deanna came in and headed for the replicator. "Excuse me, Captain, I ran out of lekarra." It took her seconds to get a jar of pickles -- the replicator probably had a button specifically programmed for it by now. She sauntered toward the door, hesitated at the end of the captain's desk, and looked at him. "You aren't giving the counselor a difficult time, are you?"

"Why would you say that?" he asked, sounding perfectly normal and reasonable.

She raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a look that eloquently asked if he'd forgotten who he was talking to.

"Fine," he snapped. "Any sign of them?"

"Not yet. You'll be the first to know if we find anything." She left the ready room, already dipping a pickle out of the jar.

The captain sighed. "Next question?"

Ben had the impression that somehow the exchange between first officer and captain had been more than it appeared. All the defensiveness was gone; now he seemed resigned to answering questions.

"I suppose she expects you to cooperate with me, which is my only saving grace?" Ben asked, daring to be casual.

His reward -- a genuine, somewhat sheepish smile. "My former counselor still occasionally makes an appearance to remind me that counselors are not the enemy. My apologies -- I had intended to get through this without going on the defensive."

"You're a very private person. It's not unusual for you to feel defensive when asked such invasive questions." Ben smiled. "You love her very much. Having so much of your public interaction with her subjected to scrutiny must make you treasure the private moments all the more."

His expression softened, and his gaze dropped to the desk. "Yes."

"Do you have a mutually-satisfying private life? Or does duty interfere with it?"

"We've been very careful about that. There are times, when things are hectic and the crises seem to come one after the next, that we can't seem to stop thinking about work. Until. . . ." He hesitated with mouth open on the unfinished sentence. One hand went to his face, to rub along his left brow as if he too were nursing a headache. "So many years. . . . It's not easy, you know. Some days it feels like I have the ship sitting on my chest. But I can get away from it for a while, if she's with me. I don't think I would -- "

He looked up as if suddenly realizing who he was talking to. "I'm quite satisfied with all aspects of my life."

Ben checked his padd. They'd been all over the map, and some of the questions seemed pointless now. He skipped down to the next one that seemed to take them to different territory. "If Deanna were to blatantly disobey orders, what steps would you take?"

"That would depend on the circumstance. Requesting an explanation would be the first step under most conditions."

Somehow, Ben had expected more defensiveness about this -- but then he realized. In the professional arena the captain didn't mind discussing Deanna, and he had complete faith in her -- she had disobeyed orders before and been vindicated. The scenario was a moot point for him. Deanna wouldn't disobey orders without good reason. Interesting that this had been the point at which Deanna had shown discomfort.

"You feel you could discipline her if necessary, without being biased?"

"I would have to, or I'd never hear the end of it."

"From her, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel she performs her duties as effectively as she would if you weren't also her husband?"

He picked up his tea and sipped, a slight curl to his lip. "As I've said before, when we are on duty, I'm not her husband."

Back to the odd separation of roles that they employed. "All right. In the y'Rigan incident, when she disagreed with your decision, how did you feel about her approach?"

Ben listened to his calm answer and knew the rest of this would be as uneventful as his interview with Deanna. At least it would be over and done with.

\---------------

"How are we doing?"

Natalia looked up from her board. "Maintaining established search pattern at one-third impulse, sir." Her eyes dropped from Deanna's face to her abdomen. "How is he doing?" she asked softly.

"Fine, thank you," Deanna replied, smiling. "Quiet today."

"Any day now, huh? Commander, are you all right?" A brief change in her expression alarmed Natalia. Deanna shook her head, rubbed her back absently, and sighed.

"Just a slight contraction. Nothing to be alarmed about. I've been having them off and on for a while. That happens, as the delivery gets closer." She looked over Natalia's head at Ward. "Has Geordi been able to compensate for the interference at all?"

"Nope, but we're doing the best we can. It's a little like walking around inside a nebula with a hand light."

"Keep trying." Deanna moved around the bridge, heading for tactical, and Natalia thought it was more to be moving than anything else. She seemed restless. "deLio, any responses to our hails?"

"Negative, sir."

Counselor Davidson emerged from the ready room; Natalia glanced at him, and noticed he looked a little worse for wear. He headed for the lift at the back of the bridge without so much as a glance at anyone.

Then the captain came out, took his place on the bridge, and sat staring at the main screen. Whatever counselor and captain had discussed, it had put a broody wrinkle in Captain Picard's brow. Deanna came down and took her seat.

But for the murmur of the officers at the secondary stations at the back of the bridge, all was quiet. Natalia exchanged glances with Mr. Carlisle. He smiled as if trying to reassure but couldn't quite make it that far. The second officer studied the ops board and started another series of scans with light touches of his fingers.

Natalia glanced down, noted the established search pattern indicating another course change, and sent the *Enterprise* into a shallow turn, adjusting pitch and yaw slightly. On the main viewer, the thick soup of the Briar Patch roiled red and ochre as they entered a denser part of the sector.

Like trolling, she thought, remembering days on the lake with Uncle Telly. Rod and reel in hand, lures in the water, motor idling along as they tried to entice bass swimming about in the murky depths to grab the bait.

She'd have to tell Uncle Telly about this in her next comm home. Trolling in a Sovereign class vessel in a lake of interstellar dust.

~@~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 5

The breakthrough came finally as they were sitting down to lunch on the second day of 'trolling', as Natalia put it, through the Briar Patch. At deLio's page, Jean-Luc met Deanna's eyes across the table for just a split second, then both of them were on their feet and leaving the officers' mess for the bridge.

"Admiral Dougherty, sir," deLio announced as they strode out of the lift. "From the *Lexington.*"

Jean-Luc hesitated at the top of the ramp to glance again at Deanna. She pressed her lips together. {Will isn't within my range. I sense something -- I'm trying to find Bell. It's difficult, I don't know her as well. See if we can't get closer to their position.}

"Can you get a visual?" Jean-Luc asked, heading down to reclaim his chair as Ward left it. "Lieutenant, plot a course to intercept, if we aren't already heading that direction." Natalia nodded and complied without looking away from her board.

"The transmission is weak and there's too much interference for visual contact." deLio's jowls jiggled as he worked over his board. "Audio only."

"Let's hear it." Jean-Luc remained standing in front of his seat while Deanna sat down.

"*Enterprise,* this is Admiral Dougherty. Captain Picard -- what a surprise to find you here." Through the hissing he sounded genuinely surprised.

"Almost as surprising to find you here. I. . . received a message from Captain Riker recently, but the transmission was incomplete. I had some cause to believe he might be in dire straits, but I see the *Lexington* is in one piece. Might I speak to the captain?"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Captain."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow at that. Advancing slowly to ops, he leaned and muttered in Ward's ear, "Scan the *Lexington* for anything out of the ordinary." Straightening, he looked over his shoulder at Deanna. She shook her head.

"Well, Admiral, I find that a little puzzling. Has something happened to Captain Riker?"

"The captain was aiding me in our survey of the area when an unfortunate mishap occurred on an away mission. I'm afraid he and a number of his crew were lost."

Frowning, Jean-Luc paced the bridge, eyeing the main viewer. The other ship wasn't visible, only clouds of red and yellow dust. "Admiral, this is very distressing news. Will and I were good friends -- he was my first officer for quite some time."

"My condolences, Captain. This is a very unstable region of space. I suggest you go about your business. There's really nothing you can do here."

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I feel I should take it upon myself to return the captain to his family on Earth -- I know he wished to be buried there, if possible. As his friend and former commanding officer -- "

"Captain, I am sorry. I do wish there was a way you could do so. But the body was lost -- there are no remains."

{Keep him talking, Jean.}

He glanced at Deanna. She was absorbed in something on her display. "I'm sorry to hear that, Admiral. Very sorry indeed. Perhaps, then, I could retrieve his personal effects -- he did promise me his collection of antique guns, and I know he wanted our friend Commander Data to receive his trombone. As executor of his last will and testament -- "

"Captain Picard, I assure you, when this mission is over I will personally see to it that his personal effects are sent to you in accordance with the captain's wishes. But we really must be on our way, as I'm sure you must -- orders are orders, and my errand here is somewhat urgent."

"Actually, our own mission was nothing more than a survey -- if you require assistance -- "

"No, Captain, we do not. Return to your assignment. Dougherty, out."

A moment of silence. "They are moving off, sir," deLio reported. "Heading two four mark seven."

"According to what little we have on this sector, what lies along that heading?"

Ward checked. "Nothing listed in the database."

"Lieutenant, plot a parallel course, staying just out of their sensor range."

"And sir," Ward said, turning his chair, "a scan indicates that there are ninety-four humanoid life signs aboard the *Lexington.*"

Jean-Luc put his hands behind his back. "A bit less than a normal complement for an Intrepid class, wouldn't you say?"

"The admiral was hiding something, and became increasingly agitated by your repeated attempts to offer assistance," Deanna said. "And he was lying when he said Will was dead. Of course, you were lying when you claimed to be the executor of his will."

"I didn't think I should stop at that point to allow you to lay claim to it -- I was trying to keep him talking. Since Will's still alive, however, we should focus our efforts on finding him."

"Why would an admiral want you to believe a fellow officer is dead?" Natalia asked without looking up from her board.

"So we won't go looking for him." Jean-Luc rested an arm on the back of her chair and studied the helm. She had them just outside the periphery of the *Lexington*'s estimated sensor range, barely within the *Enterprise*'s sensor range, given the limits of what they could do in the adverse conditions of the Briar Patch. "Let's see a sector map, or as much as we have of one."

Which wasn't much. The few star systems mapped were scattered throughout the sector.

"The emergency buoy must have been close to the edge of the Briar Patch," Jean-Luc mused aloud. "deLio, put it on the map. Also our current location, and that of the *Lexington.* Do we know what heading they were on when we found them?"

With a few adjustments, they soon were looking at a grid with star systems and estimated ship positions. Their own vessel was represented by a blue dot, the emergency buoy's position flagged and anchoring the other end of the blue line that was the *Enterprise*'s course into the area, the assumed course of the *Lexington* in red angling across the Patch and hooking left to intercept the *Enterprise* then hooking right again to continue along its original course, roughly bisecting the uneven patch on a vertical heading. And the *Venture*'s approximate point of entry into the region in the upper left hand corner of the viewscreen, a guess based on its previous location.

"Two ships unaccounted for, the *Renton* and the *Mirage,* wherever they are. But interesting to note that the emergency buoy was here," Jean-Luc said, indicating the lower left hand corner, "and the *Lexington* was two days travel from it at one-third impulse."

"Abandon ship," Deanna exclaimed, rising from her seat. "What if the buoy was released from a shuttle? What if the shuttle were under attack, and running, and the message was to the *Lexington* from the away team telling them they were being forced to abandon the shuttle?"

"Which would mean there must be a planet somewhere close -- extrapolate from the known range of the buoy, assuming the shuttle was within the Briar Patch. At full impulse, for however long they could sustain it, they could be within what range of the buoy's position when we found it?" Jean-Luc watched a yellow circle blossom around the buoy marker. "Overlap the area we've searched so far." A red circle took a bite out of the yellow one. "There's a lot of area we haven't covered yet."

"I still don't understand why the admiral wouldn't want to tell us what happened to them, if he knows the away team is still alive," Ward said. "If there's an explanation for it that Command would accept, why hide it?

"It may be that recovering them compromises whatever mission he's on," Jean-Luc said, crossing his arms. "And perhaps our very presence presents a similar risk. Well. Since we're not involved in his mission and we're supposed to be on our way out of the area, we'll take the scenic route. Make a note of the heading the *Lexington* is on, Lieutenant, and hard about -- we have an away team to locate. Best possible speed resuming our search pattern."

He left the bridge to Ward; Deanna followed him back to the officers' mess to finish lunch. In the lift she seemed preoccupied. As they sat down, she sighed.

"Something's not right, Jean-Luc."

"I know. We knew that before we came. But without knowing more, there's not a lot we can accomplish. If we find Will, he'll probably have more information. Something tells me he wasn't just out joyriding in a shuttle. Where's his first officer? Why wasn't she in command, or on the away mission in his place?"

Jean-Luc ate a few bites of lunch before he realized they had switched places and he was eating stuffed oskoid leaves. She didn't seem to care that she'd inherited his dumplings. In fact, she wasn't eating them. He watched her push them around with the fork.

"We'll find him," he murmured.

"It's more than that." She put down the fork and pushed her brows with her fingers, elbows propped on the table. "There's something wrong on the *Lexington.* There was considerable tension among the crew at large. I didn't sense Bell, either, nor did I sense the counselor -- there should have been a Betazoid counselor aboard. The admiral was frustrated, and alarmed at your presence here. We should get a message to Tom."

"And say what?"

She smiled with a whistling-in-the-dark kind of amusement. "There's trouble in dat der Briar Patch, sezzee."

"What?" he blurted, dropping a fork of oskoid.

"An old folk tale. If Tom doesn't recognize it, Data will. Kenny requests it from his babysitters. I think I can get the message across in such a way that if it's intercepted, anyone else won't know what to make of it, particularly an alien. If the captain deems it worth shooting off a probe on an intercept course with our sister ship, that is. If we have Geordi program it to travel with brief bursts at full impulse the engine should make it all the way -- even if it burns itself out, we could rig it with extra sensor equipment and set its telemetry to locate *Venture* so it would at least have a chance of drifting in their path. If we use a class eight, the casing should be durable and large enough to include extra equipment, perhaps even a small shield generator to protect it from the excessive radiation."

"Given the nature of this sector and our science department's curiosity, I think a probe would be called for -- it might also return valuable data before it passes out of range. It doesn't seem fair to let Tom wander into this blindly, does it?"

"I think he'll catch on quickly enough. It may be advantageous for him to know we're also in the area, however, and that we're looking for Br'er Rabbit. . . ."

\---------------

Ben entered the officer's mess expecting to have it to himself; lunch break was over. But there were the captain and first officer, leaning across a table talking in low voices. The captain looked up and smiled politely.

"Good afternoon, Counselor."

"Hello, Ben," Deanna said, sitting back.

"Captain. Commander." Ben went to the replicator and punched up his selection. "You're eating late."

"We were just discussing the developments -- we've made contact with Admiral Dougherty." Deanna looked uncomfortable in the chair; she shoved herself up and sidled left, as if trying to find a comfortable position. "There will be a senior staff meeting at fifteen hundred in the observation lounge on deck three."

"I'll be there." Ben sat at the end of the middle table, the same one they were at, but they rose and put their trays in the recycler.

It only struck Ben as odd after they were gone -- usually staff meetings were held in the conference room just off the main bridge, and the senior officers paged or sent notice through the intraship messaging system to attend. He puzzled over it a moment, then shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich as he turned on his padd to review the notes from his session with the captain that morning.

\---------------

"So Will finally got his own command?" Ro grinned and followed Dr. Crusher down the corridor.

"Yep." The doctor hadn't been forthcoming with information on the *Enterprise* and had used work as her excuse. Over the past few hours the former Maquis had been subjected to thorough medical exams. Dr. Crusher kept Sarah longer than Ro, ordering more tests; Gary, always protective of Sarah, insisted on staying with her. Desa stayed at Ro's suggestion, to keep Gary the paranoid in check. None of them were happy about being on *Venture.*

Ro knew her companions were frightened, uncertain of who to trust, and she didn't blame them -- hell, she didn't know who to trust either. Ro volunteered to go talk to Glendenning right then mostly to keep her group from going too and ruining the whole thing with their misunderstandings of Starfleet and the ways of officers. None of them had been fleeters prior to joining the Maquis.

Beverly took her to a conference room -- bland, black and gray, just like the new uniforms. "They must've gotten a Bolian to redecorate, huh?"

The doctor snorted in amusement. Bolians didn't see very many colors, mostly shades of gray. "The captain will be in shortly. Wait here."

"Like I have a choice."

Beverly's smile waned. "A lot's changed, and I don't just mean postings. The *Enterprise* as you knew it is gone now. Destroyed, but most of the crew survived. Will has his own ship, Data and I are on the *Venture* -- "

"Data's here, too?"

"As first officer. He'll probably come down with the captain."

"What about Geordi, Guinan, Counselor Troi, and Captain Picard?" Ro smirked. "Bet Picard's an admiral by now."

"Nope. The new *Enterprise* is a Sovereign class, like this one. He's still in command. Geordi's aboard, and Guinan." Beverly regained her amused smile. "Deanna's his first officer now."

"*WHAT*? That little -- " Remembering the counselor and the doctor had been good friends, she cut off the remark quickly. "But she's a counselor!"

"Was. She's pretty good at being a first officer." One of the doctor's manicured eyebrows quirked upward briefly. "I could've done that, I suppose, but someone's got to keep sickbay in order."

The door opened, and in strode a tall blond man with a mustache. About Will Riker's height, but a bit broader in the shoulders and a more rugged look -- longer, uneven nose, and a darker complexion in spite of the sandy-blond hair. He smiled and raised his arms in welcome.

"Doctor, so nice to see you again," he exclaimed. "Thank you for coming. You know, I've always been partial to redheads."

"This is Ro Laren. We were just catching up on a few things. Ro, this is Captain Thomas Glendenning -- ignore any charming remarks or flirtatious winking. It's a nervous habit of his -- he's in therapy for it." Beverly smiled and patted the captain's arm on her way out. Glendenning shot a too-obvious glance at her posterior as she left, then sobered somewhat as he turned his deep blue eyes on Ro.

"Ro Laren, formerly of Starfleet, formerly of the Maquis -- may I get you something to drink?"

"Sure, why not?"

He raised one eyebrow and turned in the direction it pointed, then strode to the replicator at the far end of the room, moving with the poise and surety of someone who knew how to be his own best weapon. Ro had seen that same poise before. Similar to Captain Picard's demeanor, but more like a dancer. It usually meant martial arts.

He returned with two cups and sat down, gesturing for her to do the same. No posturing for dominance here -- he kicked back with an ankle balanced on a knee, shoulders loose, a finger resting through the handle of the cup. She sat straight as if in for a performance review.

"What brings a nice girl like you to a nasty place like the Briar Patch?" He smiled as if welcoming his own sister aboard.

"My companions and I were living here, until Dougherty and the skinheads came along."

He nodded, raising his raktajino to his lips. "You have a message for Captain Picard, evidently."

"Something's not right. Dougherty told Ventana to enlist us -- he should've thrown us in the brig. Ventana said so, but he obeyed orders. And those damn Son'a aren't trustworthy."

He tapped his upper lip thoughtfully, stroked his mustache a couple times, then said, "Computer, describe the Son'a."

"The species known as Son'a inhabit Ellora Prime, one of the two worlds they took control of ninety-two standard years ago. Not much is known of their culture. The Son'a are not members of the Federation. No treaty exists with them. The Son'a were known suppliers of ketracel white during the Dominion War."

"'Took control of.' How very politic of the computer to phrase it thus. Interesting that they're here now, isn't it?" Glendenning's eyes narrowed. "What have the Son'a to do with Dougherty and Ventana?"

"Supposedly, the Federation negotiated some sort of deal with them," Ro said. "They've been jointly mapping the area and wanted me and my friends to help. We've been here for a couple years living on one of the planets, and we were in the middle of planting this year's crops when the Son'a found us. We fought. . . the bastards killed most of us. We four made it to our ship, with them in pursuit and firing. We were making a run for open space when Ventana caught us. And then the Son'a were telling this Dougherty how they offered us assistance, and we turned on them and all those deaths were self defense. . . . You don't believe me."

"No. I believe you. I'm just trying to decipher now why Dougherty requested my presence, if he's got all these ships running around. The order given was to provide defensive support, but if he's got Son'a helping him. . . . Computer, list all Starfleet vessels known to be within a day's travel of the Briar Patch as of yesterday."

"The *Renton.* The *Enterprise.* The *Lexington.*"

"Location of the *Enterprise.*"

"The *Enterprise is in sector four four four, en route to sector four four six."

"And Dougherty called from the *Lexington.*" Glendenning chewed on it for a few minutes. "Why the hell did he want my ship if there was another Sovereign class that close?"

Ro smirked and tried the raktajino. It was pretty close to the real thing, considering. Starfleet replicators hadn't had it programmed right in the past. "Don't know. All I know is they stuck us on the *Renton* and made us map what we knew of the sector, which was quite a bit. We checked out a few planets before we settled down. Had to make sure we found one that had an atmosphere that would filter out dangerous radiation levels."

She considered telling him more than that, but it might be hazardous -- no way of telling whose side this guy would be on. The last thing she'd do would be to sell out Anij and the rest of the Ba'ku. They'd been the only people who had shown any mercy to the ragtag group of refugees. The skinheads could just hunt around for the rest of their freakish lives, for all she cared, and if Starfleet wanted to help them, they could all go to hell too.

"Data to Captain Glendenning." The familiar voice made Ro's heart leap, just as seeing Beverly in sickbay had done. "Please report to transporter room two."

"Transporter room? Data, what's going on?" This was the real captain -- he lost all the jovial amusement and frowned a little.

"We have just intercepted a class eight probe. Insignia and coded signature indicates that it originated aboard the *Enterprise.* It was altered to carry extra shielding and programmed to travel at one-third impulse, with intervals of full impulse travel. It carries telemetry data, and contains a module that requires your voice authorization. I thought you would be interested in -- "

"I'll be right there, Data. Thanks." Glendenning considered her for a moment. "Coming with me?"

Ro stared at him. "What did you say?"

The lopsided grin reappeared. "I said, are you coming with me."

"You got a voice authorization only message and you want a Maquis -- "

"There are no Maquis. You were Starfleet, under Picard. Beverly tells me you were one of his up-and-comers. You joined the Maquis out of moral outrage and disgust for what the Cardassians did. I've got a few souvenirs of my own from those lovable lizards -- I don't have to guess at what kind of toughness you've got. Nor do I have to guess at how much you mistrust most of Starfleet at this point, because they waffled away from confronting the reality of what happened on the DMZ. I'm going to gamble that you'll be on my side by the time I get through with listening to this message, and I'd like that since you've obviously been out here a while and have information I could use. So let's sashay on down to the transporter room, and see what Jean-Luc has to tell us."

Ro followed him from the room, intensely curious about a number of things, less curious about others. Sashay -- must be a human colloquialism. And Glendenning spoke as if he knew about, and possibly sympathized with, the trials of people who'd lived on the DMZ.

He strolled down the corridor gesturing with a hand as he spoke. "The thing is, the Maquis didn't realize that certain steps were being taken by Starfleet -- the sorts of steps that couldn't be made public or they'd be impossible. Certain officers became a little too familiar with things the Maquis experienced."

"You're saying Starfleet was actually trying to do something about the Cardassians," Ro said.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, hesitating outside a lift. "Don't know about the rest of them, but a few of us did."

She rode down a few decks in silence with him, studying him anew. He bore it with lidded eyes. They reached the room in minutes; the transporter attendant left as they came in, and Data waited for them.

"Hello," he said, smiling faintly. The expression took her aback. It actually seemed to reach his eyes. "Commander Besala has already appropriated the sensor data and taken it to astrometrics, Captain. The message module is as we found it."

The captain studied the probe, giving the pitted black surface a once-over and leaning over the open casing. Touching a few buttons on the side of what must have been the module Data had mentioned, he said, "Voice authorization Glendenning -- replay message."

"Hello, Br'er Fox." Deanna's voice -- Ro would've recognized it anywhere. But she took on a very different tone than her usual. "Br'er Bear and I wanted you to keep an eye out for Br'er Rabbit, seems he's gone and let himself get tossed in de Briar Patch. 'Course he's gone to ground like any rabbit born and bred in a Briar Patch. Intrepid fellow, that Br'er Rabbit. 'Cep'n he sez, once he's in dat Briar Patch, he spec Br'er Fox to come in after him, sezzee. Br'er Bear, he off to find dat Br'er Rabbit, but Br'er Bear he be set on by hunters -- Br'er Rabbit might slip through his paws, 'cause he left his rabbit hole, an' all his little rabbits, an' de hunters de be takin' his little rabbits away from him, leavin' him all alone in de Briar Patch. All he have be his own *will* power and his wits about him, dat usu'ly enough for Br'er Rabbit, but mebbe that be not enough this time. Mebbe Br'er Rabbit squeal a little an' get Br'er Bear's attention, but it be too late. Dem hunters be cruel and prob'ly turn on Br'er Fox too, I reckon, if they knew he be huntin' Br'er Rabbit."

A moment of silence, and utter confusion for Ro. For Data, too, from the puzzlement on his face. Glendenning, who already crouched next to the probe, fell back to sit on the floor and laughed.

"Well, bimeby, Miss Bear, if'n we ain't jes' full o' surprises," he exclaimed. "Looks like your chums have been busy, Ro Laren. The *Enterprise* must be looking for the *Lexington.*"

Data cocked his head. "How did you. . . ah. Intrepid. Will."

"Elementary, my dear Data. So Br'er Rabbit is missing in the Briar Patch, he's separated from his hole -- must be his ship, and the little rabbits are probably the crew." Glendenning jumped up and propped hands on hips. "The hunters would be Ro's chums the Son'a, or possibly Ventana and Dougherty."

"I do not understand," Data said.

Glendenning looked at Ro intently. "You said you were mapping the sector for Ventana. Mind if I request the same? Data, what telemetry data did we get from this?"

"All sensor readings the probe collected en route to us, and also what appears to be a map of the sector. I have not yet analyzed the information."

"Well, if we're going to find Rabbit boy Riker, we're going to need it. Prep us up a probe and get it ready to send back along this probe's flight path. A return receipt for Br'er Bear is in order."

"Riker?" Ro blurted.

"Hail, hail, the gang's all here," Glendenning said, heading for the door.

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 6

Three days. No sign of Will. Jean-Luc sat in darkness, looking out at the dim glow of a distant star within the Briar Patch. He thought about requesting Mozart's Requiem but knew it would wake Deanna.

{Jean-Fish?}

He rose and went back to the bedroom, to sit on the bed next to her. Bathed in the reddish glow from outside, she lay beneath the covers; his hand found her hip, and though he'd aimed for Yves, he left it where it landed.

"Sorry."

"I would have woke up anyway. He's close. Alive. He's angry as hell and frustrated beyond anything I've ever sensed from him. He's that afraid."

"If you can sense him he must be -- Picard to bridge."

"Mendez here, sir."

"Anything on sensors? Any response to hails?"

A pause. "Sir. . . I was just debating whether or not to contact you. We've picked up what looks like debris."

"I'll be up shortly. Picard out." He was already in motion, discarding his robe, reaching for a new uniform.

"Help me up."

"Dee, no. You don't have to. I'll take care of it and keep you updated on our progress -- there's nothing you could do, and you should at least be off your feet and resting."

"You'll tell me what's going on, as it's happening?"

Straightening his pants over his boots, he tugged his jacket and came to kiss her cheek. "Just rest as much as you can. I'll be in touch."

"I'll let you know if I sense anything more."

He left their quarters at a running walk, tapping the badge as the doors shut. "Picard to Mendez -- have you identified it yet?"

"There's a lot of turbulence in this region, more than usual. We're moving in closer. We should have a better fix on it in a few minutes. I'm picking up a faint automated S.O.S. now."

"Bridge," Jean-Luc said to get the lift moving. "Commander Troi senses survivors. Have the transporter room on standby."

When he arrived, he found Mendez had been joined by a sleepy-eyed Geordi and deLio. "It's a shuttlecraft. Badly battered, and not just by the Briar Patch," Mendez said, turning from tactical.

"What are our chances of transporting the survivors off?"

"Sensors aren't picking up any life signs -- "

Jean-Luc cut deLio short. "There is at least one person alive, Deanna sensed him. Geordi?"

"Best bet is a tractor beam. We should be in range in four minutes."

"Any other ships in the area?"

"Negative," deLio said.

They waited the brief time and the retrieval went without incident -- the tractor beam had no trouble catching the shuttle as it tumbled through the Briar Patch. It didn't respond to hails.

"No engines," Geordi said. "The starboard nacelle took a hit -- that shuttle was someone's target recently. Looks like they still have emergency power, life support, but it's a good thing we found them. I read four life signs. I'm putting it in the main shuttle bay."

"Picard to sickbay, medical team to main shuttle bay," Jean-Luc paged on his way off the bridge. Geordi followed him.

"Will?" the engineer asked quietly as they rode in the lift.

"Yes. Which reminds me -- Picard to Troi."

"Troi here. Bell's not with him. They're afraid -- you weren't able to communicate with them, were you?"

"We should be able to now. I have a medical team on its way."

"I'm -- "

"Staying in bed, and don't give me any more grief about it. If they're cleared by sickbay and able to talk I'll let you know. Picard out."

Geordi shook his head. "Glad it's you dealing with her and not me."

"She isn't too difficult."

"For you, no." Geordi's mouth twisted. "You weren't aboard for the omega thing. Which I suppose we'll never hear the details of."

"No." The lift opened. They met three security officers outside the shuttle bay -- Lana'hai, Greenman and Travis. Interesting selection. Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow at Natalia and strode into the bay, leaving the others to follow. He remembered briefly that Natalia had been put on a split shift in security, and that the first half usually fell in the latter part of beta shift. Then he forgot all else as he rounded the retrieved shuttle.

The hull was scored down the sides by weapons fire, the starboard nacelle obviously inoperable. He tapped his comm badge. "Picard to Riker. Can you open the hatch?" Hopefully at this short range the badges would work whether the shuttle's internal systems did or not.

A few moments passed. The hatch moved, but jerkily -- manual override. As the requested medical team arrived, hurrying into the bay, Geordi and Lana'hai helped the effort to pull the hatch open the rest of the way. The Sulamid did most of the work, with his larger handling tentacles.

The first one out was the first officer, Rachel McKillip. She limped but seemed otherwise intact. Will came next, holding his arm as if it were broken. He avoided the med tech who tried to guide him aside, directing her instead to his injured officers, and came to Jean-Luc.

"I suppose this means the mission didn't go well," Jean-Luc said, relieved to see him ambulatory. Though his eyes remained grim, Riker's mouth twitched in a brief smile.

"No, Jean-Luc, it went to hell and stayed there. I suppose you responded to my call for help?"

"Good thing. Dougherty gave you up for lost."

"You spoke to the bastard? He's still got my ship?"

"We made a note of his last heading. Let the medics have their way with you. We'll talk afterward."

"After the others are taken care of. It's just a dislocation. You have no idea how relieved I am to see you," Will rasped. "I'd just about given up hope." He watched two of his crew being carried out of the shuttle on antigrav stretchers. "It's been a rough ride."

"Captain," Geordi called, popping out of the shuttle. "The cockpit's a mess. Looks like the work of Will Riker trying to improvise."

Jean-Luc took in the burn marks on Will's fingers, the mussed hair, the weariness in his face, and the absence of pips or jacket. He put a hand on Will's good shoulder and guided him to the medical team. "Full report in the morning, Geordi. I'll be in sickbay with the wounded."

"How long have you been looking? How long has it been since you saw my ship?" Will asked, following behind the medical team and their patients slowly. The security team remained in the shuttle bay, presumably to help with the forensics of the shuttle's condition. deLio would want a full analysis of the damage inflicted on it.

"We arrived three days ago, made contact with Dougherty the second day, and afer an analysis of the information we had, made an educated guess as to where you would be and came looking for you. Were you in some sort of battle?"

"We were abandoned by the admiral, and then attacked by the Son'a."

"Son'a?" Jean-Luc had heard that name somewhere but couldn't place it. "Are they indigenous to this area?"

"No. You might recall hearing about them -- they were a known source of ketracel white during the war." Jean-Luc stopped walking, and Will met his gaze wearily. "That's what I thought, too. But, the Federation is a benevolent and forgiving organization. The Cardassians were as much victims as they were aggressors, in the end. So, too, must we give the Son'a a second chance."

He sounded like he was mimicking someone. "Dougherty said that?"

"Besides, the Son'a have access to resources valuable to the Federation. What, I couldn't tell you -- part of that information Dougherty thinks I don't need to know."

Jean-Luc started moving again, intending to lead his friend to sickbay. "And they attacked your shuttle."

Will walked slowly, on purpose, Jean-Luc realized. Putting distance between them and the medical team. The techs and the injured entered a lift and disappeared behind closing doors before he spoke again. "Something isn't right with Dougherty. I questioned him -- I wanted information on the nature of the mission he wanted my ship to carry out. He already has the *Renton* in the patch somewhere, he has this other ship, the *Mirage* -- he came aboard from the *Renton* when I arrived and started reviewing personnel records. And he brought some of his own people with him."

"What kind of away mission were you on?"

Will ran his hand over his head, ruffling his mussed hair. "That's just it, Jean-Luc. I wasn't. I questioned whether we could trust the Son'a, I asked for mission details, and all I got was a runaround. 'Follow orders, Captain. Just follow orders.' The longer he insisted the harder it got for me to believe this was legitimate Starfleet business. I made the mistake of voicing my concerns to Rachel, she started questioning too, and the next thing we knew we were on a shuttle, along with our tactical officer and science officer, who also questioned."

Jean-Luc sighed and shook his head. "Dee said there was something not right with Dougherty."

"I didn't think it would come to seeing them loaded in shuttles and abandoned to *protect* the damned mission. All we did was ask -- maybe we were a little forceful about it, but dammit, that's my ship! My officers! Just what is it he can't tell the ship's captain?"

Hearing the edge in Riker's words, Jean-Luc knew he would soon increase his volume as well. "Come on, Will, let's get you to sickbay. I have the feeling Dee's going to come looking for us any time now."

They moved toward the lift. The next car was empty. "How is she?" Will asked as it started to move.

"Cumbersome, but in good spirits, for the most part. She's mellowed these last months, spends a lot of time thinking and rearranging things in the nursery. I've half-expected her to go on extended leave early, so she can focus on it exclusively."

Will's weariness showed more when he smiled at that. "I always knew she'd be a good mother. Can't wait to see the kid -- you know Lieutenant Greenman bet me he'd have your eyes?"

"I hope you didn't wager too much. She'll win." Jean-Luc smiled thinly and left the lift on deck twelve.

A short jaunt down the corridor and they entered sickbay. Dr. Mengis, the CMO, had been paged; he turned from one of the patients and gestured, and one of the nurses came to lead Will to a biobed.

{Jean?}

{Will's fine, but Dougherty is definitely up to something. See what you can find out about the Son'a, and the admiral. Call the bridge and tell them to continue the search. There were four people in this shuttle, ninety-four on the *Lexington* -- there are still people missing. Dougherty may be putting anyone who questions his authority off the ship. That may explain where Bell is. She wouldn't sit still for this.} Hopefully giving Deanna things she could do from bed would keep her there.

Jean-Luc waited; Will's injuries didn't take too long to fix, nor did his first officer's. McKillip had a fractured tibia and Will's shoulder had been dislocated as he had said. The other two officers, a security officer and the third officer, remained unconscious. Mengis had his staff working diligently when Jean-Luc led the other two from sickbay.

"Bridge to captain," Mendez called. "We've picked up another shuttle. It's in the same condition as the first. No engines, emergency power only."

Jean-Luc hesitated in the corridor, glancing at Will and Rachel. "How many life signs?"

"Ten, sir. We're bringing it in."

"Have medical teams sent to the shuttle bay. Keep looking."

"Commander Troi already gave the order, sir."

"The normal ship's complement of your ship was one hundred twelve, wasn't it?" Jean-Luc asked, looking at Will. "How many people did Dougherty bring with him?"

"Six. What are you saying, that he's put more of my crew in jeopardy?"

"Lieutenant Mendez, we have retrieved fourteen of twenty-four missing *Lexington* crew. Continue hails on all standard frequencies. Are we still getting readings from the probe?"

"Negative, sir. It went off sensors two hours ago."

"We should be getting a response in kind in another six hours, if estimates of the *Venture*'s position were correct. Let me know if you pick up anything else on sensors. Picard out."

"Sounds like you're on top of things," McKillip remarked. Will glanced down at his first officer with raised eyebrow.

"Of course he is. He's Captain Picard."

Jean-Luc opened his mouth, but was interrupted. "Troi to Picard."

"You're sensing ten more people -- is one of them Bell?"

"You're psychic."

"No, just in touch with the bridge and aware that you're climbing out of bed right now -- put the uniform down and knock it off already." Jean-Luc headed for the lift as a group of medical personnel emerged from sickbay. "Or I'll send Malia up to sit with you."

"Captain -- "

"Don't even try."

"But I *can't sleep*! I might as well get up!"

The four med techs and their equipment caught up with them and joined them, making the car crowded. "Main shuttle bay," Jean-Luc said to set them in motion. "Commander, I suggest you give in and not fight with me in front of the nurses." He smiled faintly at the team. Lieutenant Lindsay, apparently the one in charge, rolled her eyes.

"Not again," she muttered.

"If I weren't preg -- "

"If you don't follow the CMO's orders I'll send Dr. Mengis up to make sure you do. You're grounded. See you in the morning."

"Captain, I -- "

Jean-Luc, aware of Will's amusement over this, said, "You are being too obstinate for anyone's good, and if you don't stop fighting with me in front of a lift full of people you're going to significantly erode crew morale."

It resulted in the quiet twitter of the connection being severed. Lindsay chuckled at it. "I guess it's all in knowing the right thing to say."

When they entered the shuttle bay, a second craft sat next to the first, and the former occupants stood, sat, and lay on the deck nearby, with Geordi and the security team looking on. The medical team rushed forward.

"God," Will muttered. Jean-Luc wondered how he managed such restraint. This group was worse off than the previous one, the lacerations and bruises signs of a rougher ride in the turbulence outside. Bell was one of the worst-looking, with blood on her face and matting her hair, but at least she sat up, awake and responding to the nurse who knelt at her side.

&lt;Are you done shouting at me?&gt;

The thought came faintly, and telepathically. {Cygne, I wasn't shouting. I just don't think you need to be here, and that you need rest. They're worse than the last group. Let the medics do their work, let me sort out what's going on, and if you're still awake when it's over, I'll bring Will and Bell up to see you.}

{All right.}

Compromises worked well. He turned his attention to the scene before him, waiting with crossed arms as Will spoke to one after the other of his crew. The medics worked around him. Bell's wounds must have been superficial; she stood when the nurse finished with the lacerations on her face and arm, and if not for the bloodstains on her uniform and the rips in her sleeve, one wouldn't have known she'd ever been hurt. She had glazed eyes, however, and shook visibly as Will led her away from the others.

"Lieutenant," Will said quietly, his tone vying with the formality of his address.

"He declared us all insubordinate and detrimental to the mission, just because we questioned -- he claimed we. . . ." She trailed off, looking from Will to Jean-Luc, her expression one that Jean-Luc had seen before. Shock, anger, disbelief -- fear.

"When Admiral Dougherty came aboard, did he show you any official credentials or orders? Are we dealing with a rogue?" Jean-Luc asked softly, begging the question of Will, mindful of the medical team and recovered wounded.

"He claims the Federation Council knows all about what's going on here," Will murmured. "He claims he's been granted broad discretionary leeway to do what's necessary to accomplish whatever it is he's here to do. Evidently, that includes jettisoning people who question him into space to be shot at." The fury in his eyes said what he thought of the whole situation quite well, matching his low, intense tone of voice. "He did contact Command shortly after he came aboard."

"This isn't going to be solved overnight, I can see that." Jean-Luc watched more medics arriving. "When we find the rest of your people, we'll see if we can't sort this out. Hopefully we'll hear from Tom by then. I'll show you to quarters -- you both look like a good night's sleep is in order. Though if you don't mind, I'd like to take you to see Deanna first, so she doesn't spend the next four hours questioning me."

\---------------

"Furthermore, the captain exhibits no lack of confidence in Commander Troi's performance as an -- "

"Counselor Davidson to sickbay."

The page from Dr. Mengis startled Ben into a few moments of silence, coffee in midair. He put the cup down. "Computer, save and end recording, to be reopened at my voice authorization only." He left his office and entered main sickbay a few minutes later, to find that his day had suddenly become more interesting. Mengis hurried across from a biobed upon which a distraught woman lay. A nurse was trying to comfort her.

"We have twenty-two people recovered from being adrift in the Briar Patch in shuttlecraft without power," Mengis said quietly. "They were out there for the better part of four days. The captain's hunch appears to be correct -- Admiral Dougherty is indeed doing something unusual."

Unusual wasn't the word for this situation. "You're saying the admiral put them out there," Ben murmured, mindful of the handful of patients, some of whom looked their way.

"Yes, in disabled shuttlecraft. For daring to question orders. Seven of them are in a state of extreme mental shock, from being set adrift with minimal power and fired upon in addition to the unusual situation of being abandoned by a commanding officer. The others have various degrees of physical injury but we've treated and released them. Two are dead, of blows to the head as the craft they were in was thrown about while under fire. We picked them up too late to do anything for them, unfortunately."

Ben reeled at the implications. A Starfleet admiral doing this with no explanation -- was this a case of declaring martial law? The PR department kept insisting that the fleet wasn't a military organization, that the ranking system was just a holdover, that the actual function of starships in general was exploration and diplomatic relations -- humanitarian sorts of things. The war had altered the way things were done for a while but now that it was over everything could go back to the way it was before. With the Cardassian Union no longer a threat, the non-aggression pact with the Romulans, and the continuing treaty with the Klingons, the only dubious relations were with the Randra Alliance.

Or so the news would have the general public believe. After the staff meeting the previous day, Ben had to wonder -- if the captain and first officer were so careful not to alarm them, if the captain so thoroughly explained that there was a lot they didn't know that might explain what was going on in the Briar Patch, yet they still felt a need to have the meeting. . . . And in an observation area, not the bridge, not the briefing room, not even the officer's mess. They wanted all senior staff informed, Troi had said. They didn't want any sudden surprises to cause misunderstandings.

Ben guessed that more than fifty years in Starfleet would have attuned Picard to the minutia -- hints of something amiss, of regulations in the process of being broken. Probably another thing that helped him balance his life with Troi, but more than that, it had guided him in successfully escaping court-martial convictions. Captains had always been granted a certain amount of leeway when exploring; even prime directive violations didn't necessarily mean disciplinary action if the circumstances were such that it was unavoidable. Like Deanna had said in session -- sometimes situations became more than regulations could dictate responses to, and decisions had to be made with consideration to the spirit rather than the letter.

But this -- an admiral tossing crew off a ship?

Either there were extraordinary circumstances, or the admiral had flipped his bars completely.

Tapping his comm badge, he paged Counselor Ellison, his replacement after his promotion to ship's counselor. There were more people here than one person could handle reasonably in a day.

\---------------

"Thank you, Natalia," deLio said pleasantly. The L'norim never smiled but sometimes his voice carried the same impact.

Natalia felt like she'd fallen down a turbolift shaft, after pulling the all-nighter with Commander LaForge and his engineering team to get the reports compiled. Ensign Travis had helped until the end of beta, and Lana'hai had stuck with her all the way through to the beginning of alpha. The Sulamid had suggested rest might be called for since she had to be at the helm on alpha shift, but after the staff briefing the day before that she hadn't expected to be included in, she felt the necessity. The captain had pulled the entire alpha shift bridge crew in to discuss the admiral's behavior, and it hadn't escaped Natalia's attention that it wasn't in the normal location, nor was it as formal as previous meetings with the captain. Commander Troi had done most of the talking, in fact.

She went down the bridge and relieved deDon, one of the L'norim ensigns that had recently been assigned to gamma helm. "You are fourteen point six five minutes late," deDon said as he rose from the chair. He had fewer dewlaps on his cheeks than deLio -- must mean he was younger, or something.

"I'm sorry." It wasn't worth the argument. Natalia knew that when the captain got the report results from deLio, the security chief would mention the reason for her tardiness. She was certain the reports were more important than punctuality.

If there were circumstances that merited putting officers adrift in sabotaged shuttles, she sure didn't know what they could be, and didn't feel up to hazarding a guess. But that admiral had some answering to do.

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 7

"That's one beat up probe." Will walked a slow circle around the open casing on the transporter room floor.

Jean-Luc tugged his pants and crouched beside it, studying the box nestled among the sensor equipment. Someone from astrometrics had already been in to claim the recorder for the sensor data. The doors opened; Deanna came in, followed by Rachel. The two first officers had met before, but not had the chance to become more than acquaintances. Already the current crisis had put a matching serious glint in their eyes.

"It doesn't like me," Jean-Luc said, glancing up at Deanna.

"I sent the message, he's probably responding to me. Replay message," she ordered.

A light on the box went on. "Hello, all and sundry -- as startling as your little missive was, I think I can one-up you. Say hi to the folks back home for us, sweetheart."

"Hello. I'm afraid things are as bad as you think they are. It's happening again."

The husky voice tensed all the muscles in Jean-Luc's shoulders and sent both eyebrows climbing. He hadn't heard that voice in years. The last voice he would ever have expected to hear, in this region of space. Ro Laren.

{The Maquis cell we never found, Jean-Fish. This would be a good place to hide, you have to admit.}

He glanced at Deanna. {The way this place plays with sensors and hampers communication, I would agree. Still a bit surprising to hear from *her.*}

Tom continued, in a casual, almost giddy way. "On that ambiguous note -- supposed to rendezvous with the tar baby any time now, but probably later than sooner. Br'er Rabbit done found himself a good 'un this time! Don't know much about much, but you can guess our mutual acquaintance with the bumpy proboscis does. Not born and bred here, but around long enough to know. Got a better idea of where the rocks and shoals are. Our favorite tap dancer says hello, too, by the way. If I were you, if you find our buck-toothed long-eared friend, you ought to step on out in a hurry. Here be dragons, and a few of their leavings. Bon voyage!"

An isolinear module popped up from the box. Jean-Luc took it and stood. "A map, I would guess."

"Or not. He wasn't very encouraging. It sounded to me as though he wants us to leave, too," Deanna said. "Maybe we should." The two captains both looked askance at her, for different reasons, probably. She shrugged. "Well, what if circumstances really are -- "

"I can't imagine what would be so dire that a captain could justifiably be forced from his ship with no explanation," Will snapped.

"I can't imagine what would be so dire that Starfleet would program a computer to stop a starship dead in the middle of nowhere, and the first officer is completely *helpless* to do anything about it, not to mention she has *no idea* what's going on!" Deanna's vehemence startled Rachel; Will's first officer took a few steps out of the way, dodging a wild arm swing, and stared at the previously-placid Betazoid.

"Point taken, Commander," Jean-Luc interjected calmly before Will could recover from his momentary shock to reply. "When the counselor's not busy you can go talk to him about that lingering trauma, but at the moment we have more pressing business to attend to -- after you." He indicated the door with an arm and followed her out.

"Your ship is programmed to -- "

Jean-Luc shot Rachel a glare that cut her off. "By the way, Dr. Mengis reminded me that you have an appointment -- "

"Yes, *MOTHER.*" Deanna walked past the lift and left them standing there watching her disappear around the curve of the corridor, on her way to sickbay.

"Wow," Rachel murmured. "I'd get in trouble for doing that."

Jean-Luc smiled faintly. Dee hadn't felt good all morning, thanks to not getting much sleep the night before, and the reminder of the frustrating omega incident she'd endured hadn't helped. "If you did it to the captain, yes, but the captain wasn't reminding her of the appointment."

Rachel's gray eyes widened. "I don't know how you manage -- how did she know it wasn't the captain?"

"The captain never addresses personal business. If he did, he'd do it in third person."

Will smirked. "Don't try, Rachel, it'll give you a headache."

They went to the briefing room on deck two. Jean-Luc dropped the chip in the slot as he sat down near the head of the table with a cup of coffee, Will and Rachel across from him.

"Password required," the computer said politely.

"Password? How could he expect you to guess that?" Will exclaimed, arms crossed on the table in front of him.

"Well, how about freaks? Roses?" There were some fairly obvious guesses for anyone who knew Glendenning personally, that wouldn't be so obvious to those not acquainted with the captain's quirks.

"Or dancing?" Will put his chin in his hand. "Beverly? Oh -- wait! I know! Shit." Nothing happened. He tapped a finger and frowned, then tried, "Dragon shit?"

"Password accepted," the computer said pleasantly.

"Here be dragons, and a few leavings," Will said, chuckling.

Jean-Luc sniffed at the choice of password, shook his head, and watched the map appear in the air over the table. It was indeed a sector map. Complete with a winking red dot, evidently marking something important. A yellow line tracing the *Venture*'s flight path had been added, and it went straight to that dot. The blue line that indicated the *Lexington* went nowhere near it. Whether that was due to something Tom knew or just a guess based on the information Tom had received from them, Jean-Luc couldn't be certain. Another line with a large winking blip tracing it slowly through the patch must be one of the other ships, *Renton* or *Mirage*; it looked like it might be on a rendezvous course with the *Lexington.*

"Picard to bridge. Change course, bearing two fifty-eight mark thirty. Best possible speed."

"Aye, sir," came Ward's quick reply.

They studied the map in silence for a time Jean-Luc measured in coffee refills. He got them the first one, Will got another. Hard to imagine what could be so important about this area. He'd seen an analysis of the sensor data from the probe.

"And you have no idea what the Son'a want here?" Jean-Luc said at last.

"How do we know Tom Glendenning isn't part of this?" Rachel asked.

"Tom wouldn't." Will's eyes flicked up and down the map. "At least, I don't think so."

"Ben Maxwell was a good man. Sometimes good men get caught between orders and principles." Jean-Luc rose and paced along the length of the table. "Sometimes the orders don't even match up with regulations. This may be something similar to omega -- it may even be omega, for all we know."

"What's omega?" Rachel asked.

"Sorry, Rache, we can't tell you that. Regulations." Will sagged in his chair, looking tired, the frustration still present in the furrow of his brows. He'd done a lot of pacing and near-shouting last night over the status of his ship, and probably hadn't slept a wink.

"Actually, they're changing that, otherwise I wouldn't have mentioned it. The incident Dee referred to made it apparent there were instances in which a first officer should know something about it -- they're still in the process of determining how much information should be provided, however. Suffice it to say, Commander, that there are a few instances provided for in regulations that are so serious that the directives aren't made common knowledge. But if it were omega, why not simply offer that as an explanation?"

"Any rumors that hint at directives *captains* can't know?" Will said, laying on the sarcasm.

"If the damn patch didn't prevent long range communications you can bet I'd be on subspace with Command," Jean-Luc exclaimed, stopping with hands behind his back to stare out at the swirling gasses. "But we lose too much time if we try now, and I'd prefer to know more before we do make contact."

"So we're going to rendezvous with Tom at the red blinking light. What if we run into Son'a?" Will asked.

"We'll just have to see."

Rachel asked questions then about the message Tom had sent, the language used and who the woman was, and Will, who had talked with Jean-Luc late into the night about all that had transpired, explained to his officer the method behind the madness of metaphor. Jean-Luc hardly paid attention. His musings ran to the reports Natalia had stayed up all night compiling, the intentional damage to the shuttles -- stranding two dozen people with no sensors or propulsion in the Briar Patch could be construed as attempted murder. Since two of the crew had actually died, there might well be a trial.

{Jean-Fish?}

He could tell already that her mood was on the upswing, probably thanks to baby-oriented discussions with the nurses and another peek at Yves thanks to the wonders of medical technology. {It was a map. We're on our way to rendezvous with Tom. How are you, cygne?}

{I've been scolded for being tired. Other than that I'm fine. Yves is healthy, and small moons are pursuing me trying to establish an orbit.}

Jean-Luc frowned at that. {Bad bird. Stop it, or I'll have to launch countermeasures. No one makes fun of my cygne, not even you.} He knew -- couldn't call it sensing, as it was almost subliminal and he had no control over it -- that she was on her way. Turning from the view, he resumed pacing. When he reached the replicator at the far end of the room, he punched in a command and returned to his seat with a Rigellian chocolate brownie drizzled with dark chocolate. Will and Rachel stared at him, their conversation paused. Rachel looked even more startled when he sat down and placed the plate in front of the empty chair next to him.

"We knew there were more Maquis," Jean-Luc said, inserting himself into the conversation again. "The question was where they had hidden themselves. After the war there were a handful of Cardassian prison installations they simply abandoned, and some of the prisoners made their way back to Federation space, but because they were wanted by Command, many of them for desertion and all of them for treason, they found hiding places. One cell we found on Galisi, a Betazoid colony, and they told us of another group -- this may be that group. That Ro is part of it shouldn't be so surprising. She's Bajoran, survived the Cardassian conflict, and she would be quite capable of surviving against the odds -- she has Starfleet training, in addition to her own tenaciousness, to her advantage."

Jean-Luc paused when the doors opened. Deanna came around the table to sit next to him and picked up her fork. She hesitated, glancing at the surprised officers across from her then at Jean-Luc, gave a one-shouldered shrug, and took a bite of her brownie.

"It's brownie hundred hours," Jean-Luc said. He ignored the further surprise from the other two and continued. "Ro obviously knows something about what's going on with the admiral. It's what she meant by telling us 'it's happening again' -- the last time she had dealings with an admiral directly, Admiral Kennelly was attempting to deceive us into giving a group of Bajorans to the Cardassians."

"There aren't any Cardassians here," Will said. "Or Bajorans, or anyone else, that we can tell. Just the Son'a."

"Though they themselves are disturbing enough," Deanna said around a mouthful of brownie. "The Federation has no treaty with them, not even a simple trade agreement. I think Ro may be referring to the prior incident in a more general sense -- the admiral is attempting to use others to his own ends, without revealing the nature of the mission. The fact that he requested *Venture* instead of the *Enterprise* might mean he's aware that Jean-Luc Quixote's in the area."

While waiting for the urge to laugh to pass, Jean-Luc leaned away from his first officer and eyed her through his lashes. "I'm going to lock my books away where you can't find them. What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Eyes wide and innocent, she brushed a fudge smudge from her upper lip with her knuckle. "Well, you total up how many admirals you've tilted at over the last decade. And you have to admit they're a lot like windmills, sometimes they do blow a lot of -- "

"This was a perfectly serious discussion until you got here."

"Sorry. But the point remains -- you did recently get Admiral Gaines in trouble. If there is something questionable going on, you are the last person Dougherty will want here."

"Why do you think that?"

"How paranoid would an admiral have to be, to dump people off the ship in shuttles, including the captain?"

Jean-Luc waited a few beats, then asked, "Have you talked to Counselor Davidson? Mengis said they would need counseling."

"I've spoken to them, too. Ben was in sickbay first thing and hasn't left yet to interview the ones released. None of them understand what the admiral did, either." She finished the brownie with a scrape of the spoon to get the last bit of fudge. "But there's one possible motive. He made an example of them. Every person who questioned his actions, whether mission-related or putting the captain and first officer off the ship, went into a shuttle. The crew of the *Lexington* is now either completely cowed by the threat of being abandoned in the Briar Patch, or there are other craft out here that we don't yet know of."

"I talked to my crew earlier, as much as Mengis would let me, and that's about right." Will shook his head, pensive and frowning. "Dougherty has a lot of explaining to do -- at this point, I'm ready to throw off the pips and beat the answers out of him."

Deanna bowed her head, putting a hand over Yves, and Jean-Luc knew she fought to block the surge of anger she sensed -- he felt some outrage of his own, but the officers across the table felt even more of it, he was certain. Their crew was being subjected to domination games by an admiral.

"Did you find out anything more about Dougherty?" he asked, addressing her with a look.

"Nothing that would explain what he's doing here. He's been an admiral for four years, he was an instructor at the Academy in addition to various diplomatic endeavors -- before his promotion he commanded a space station near the Orion Confederation."

"What about the *Renton*?" Rachel asked. "I meant to ask the computer myself but the captain and I were more concerned about talking to our crew."

Deanna looked up from her contemplation of her belly. "Ventana's record is spotless. Cross-checking netted me one former *Renton* crewmember, in our own science department. A brief conversation with the lieutenant told me that Ventana's a martinet, hasn't loosened up a bit in twenty years of command. Probably just the type of captain Dougherty would appreciate. Follows orders and regulations to the letter."

"Why didn't Dougherty just stick with his two ships and leave us out of this?" Will exclaimed. "Why involve me and appropriate my ship? And why's he calling in Tom?"

"Maybe he doesn't trust the Son'a completely, either," Rachel said, pushing a stray lock of straight brown hair behind her ear. "Anyway, we'll know more as we go along. Right, Captain?" She smiled at Jean-Luc across the table. In the seconds of silence that followed, the sound of a growling stomach came clearly, albeit faintly.

"You didn't have breakfast either?" Rachel said, looking at Will.

"It's nearly lunch time -- let's adjourn to the officer's mess," Jean-Luc suggested, rising from his seat.

\---------------

"I'm going to get a bite to eat. Want to join me?"

"No thanks, I'll just go to the guest quarters and check on the next few survivors -- I usually don't eat lunch." Barb Ellison smiled and turned away. Ben watched the assistant counselor walk off, not unappreciatively, and withdrew to the nearest lift.

No answers to the dilemma of what the admiral was up to, just a lot of frightened people. Luckily it didn't take much to deal with Starfleet officers. In private practice, he'd seen a lot more variety and a lot more unhealthy patients. With all the screening and exams officers got, they were a healthy bunch, and there weren't too many aberrations to diagnose. That only served to make the few exceptions really stand out.

For instance, the claustrophobia one of the lieutenants from the second shuttle had experienced; as a nurse in sickbay she hadn't had much exposure to tight places, and during the four days spent crowded in a shuttle in the dim emergency lighting she'd experienced panic attacks. The *Lexington*'s counselor had been aboard with her but had been knocked unconscious by a blow to the forehead during one of the bombardments. Lieutenant-Commander Corey was still in recovery, having needed surgery, and Troi had expressed disappointment at not being able to talk to him. Not directly, but asking when he'd be awake and telling the doctor to page her was a pretty good indicator she'd had high hopes.

He entered the officer's mess and was greeted by familiar light, rippling, feminine laughter, from the first officer. She was eating at a table with the captain and the rescued captain and first officer of the *Lexington.* And the blond nurse who had had the claustrophobic attack. Riker seemed to be in a world of his own, and the nurse had joined him, both of them eating with distant expressions. Troi was laughing with the other first officer. Picard smiled indulgently, but had the preoccupied expression he usually had when something serious was afoot and never far from his mind.

Ben went to the replicator, pretending no one else was there as was proper officer's mess etiquette, and settled at a table in the corner. Soon he had his notes up on three padds at once. While he referenced articles on claustrophobia on one padd and rearranged his brief notes on the second to complete reports on the rescued crew, he began new notes on the third -- putting down some scattered thoughts related to the reviews of the captain and first officer. He'd let the matter be for a while, to sift through his subconscious, and the concern returned to his thoughts every so often. He only had a week to file that report and for his CO's sake he wanted it to be right.

"We'll find your ship, Will," Troi said softly into the sudden silence that had fallen over the room. Ben hadn't paid much attention, but he realized the conversation had dwindled to a halt at the other table.

"I know," Riker said. "I just can't stop imagining -- what the hell could his rationale be? What could be so important that -- "

"We'll get to the bottom of it." Picard took that same tone as he had when telling Ben that Deanna would never leave.

Ben pressed his lips together to suppress a wry smile and picked up the third padd to make a few more notes. Riker would get his ship back. With Picard in the equation, anything was possible.

\---------------

"Ro Laren to transporter room two," came the page out of the air. She looked up from the computer terminal in her assigned quarters -- such a luxury, these quarters, even though they weren't the equal of the ones she'd had once on the 1701-D -- and acknowledged it.

Another probe, another message, she guessed. They were still two days from the location she'd marked as the Ba'ku planet. Glendenning kept including her in the situation; Gary and Sarah wanted no part of it, and had holed up in the quarters they shared. Desa, who usually trusted Ro, laid back her ears when Ro had suggested cooperation. The Caitian had retreated to quarters as well then, leaving Ro to finish what she'd started in mapping the Briar Patch herself. Another friendship coming to a close, thanks to Desa's inability to trust anyone Starfleet to any degree. But she'd never been a fleeter -- Ro could tell which officers were more likely to follow their own moral compass over regulations when push came to shove, thanks to Picard and his crew. She knew what happened here would probably have broader repercussions than even she imagined. Besides, she had to do something to help the Ba'ku, and she had no resources.

When she got to transporter room two, Glendenning and Data were there, as well as Dr. Crusher. Tough not knowing whether she could trust them completely. Tough wanting to trust Glendenning of the smiling blue eyes, and knowing that the worst of the double-dealers were also the most appealing. Looking at their smiling faces, Ro felt a pang of guilt at lying to them, but until she could see Picard face to face, she couldn't feel right about giving away too much. She'd trusted too quickly too many times in her life to let herself do it again. Picard may be Starfleet through and through, but she knew he had solid principles adhering him to it. She couldn't be so sure about Glendenning.

The casing lay open on the transporter room floor. A man in goldenrod looked up from his dissection of its internal workings with the recorder in hand. "I'll have this downloaded shortly, sir," he said to Glendenning. "There is also another box here, just as before."

"Thanks, Besala, I'll take it from here." Glendenning gestured at the transporter attendant and sent him after the engineer. When they were gone, the captain propped hands on his hips and said, "Playback message, voice authorization Glendenning."

"Please provide top-secret high-security randomly-generated password," a tinny computer voice replied.

"Shit!"

"Password accepted." A pause. Crusher quickly squelched laughter at the exchange. Glendenning's frustration had sounded real -- maybe this was an indication of how well the captains knew each other, that Picard would know Glendenning's reaction?

"Call me a rabbit again and I'll -- "

"Stop that -- be serious," Troi's voice broke in, interrupting what was plainly a hostile Will Riker.

"I think he was completely serious, but point made." Picard's voice reassured Ro like nothing else so far. He really was there, hadn't left the *Enterprise* as so many others had, apparently, and this might work out yet. "We haven't seen anyone else, but we did find a few little rabbits. Interesting that you've located a lost sheep. Tar baby is still stuck in the rabbit hole, and it's looking as though his motives are black as his namesake."

"Tell the sheep her childhood friend would like to find out if she still jumps on beds. If she knows how to play the game by the rules, or if she's been gone so long she might have forgotten some of the rules." Troi had obviously spoken to Guinan. She sounded like Guinan, approaching the question in a roundabout way.

"I hope she remembers the rules," Picard said. "See you around, M'sieur Fox." With that the recording came to an end.

Data and Crusher were looking at her sympathetically. Ro couldn't stand it. She turned on her heel, marched out of the room, and didn't look back.

At least they didn't try to come after her.

An hour later, the annunciator went off. She expected Desa, possibly to try talking some sense into her again. But it was Glendenning, striding in with crossed arms to stand before her as she sat on the sofa looking up at him.

"So where is this planet the admiral's looking for?" he asked softly.

"I told you -- "

"I don't think you're stupid, Ro, so I'd hope you would return the favor and give me a little credit. I know you don't trust me. You'd be a fool to trust me, really, given your status as wanted terrorist and mine as a captain of a ship of the line." He wandered slowly away from her, looking out the viewports. "What you gave us will probably be nothing more than a rendezvous point for the two ships. That's all right -- Data said you would probably talk to Picard more openly, and given you were yelling for him when we found you, I'd be inclined to believe that."

"I'm sorry, but -- "

"No, I don't think so. You're not sorry you can't talk to me. Sorry that you betrayed Picard years back, maybe, but I'm nothing to you."

"What the hell do you know about what I think?" she spat.

"You're Bajoran. I've met a lot of them over the years. That attitude gets easy to recognize. The certain set of the mouth, the hard look in the eyes -- I don't have to guess that you know first hand what Cardassians did to your people." He spoke over his shoulder, pacing the length of the room.

Ro glared at his back. She couldn't tell him to leave -- he would be within his rights to simply throw her in the brig, and he hadn't. "What about what Starfleet did to us? Siding with the -- "

"Starfleet has some high ideals to live up to," Glendenning exclaimed, turning from the view of the Briar Patch. "They can't always live up to them quite the way they want to. I suppose you think the captains of the ships actually enjoy doing some of the things they're ordered to do?"

"Why the hell did they have to make a treaty that compromised their oh-so-holy ideals when they knew it would compromise them?" Ro shouted. "They had to know what the Cardassians were doing! They had to know they were killing people! All those worlds on the DMZ they just handed over to the Cardies had Federation citizens living on them -- did they think expecting people to give up their homes was the right thing to do?"

"The problem is one of perspective. There are those who insist that every single life is important -- that no one person is truly expendable. Then there are those who are responsible for a multitude of lives, whether it's a starship captain with his ship full of crew or a government making decisions that will affect an entire civilization -- or a Federation Council making decisions that will affect multiple civilizations. You can't look at the forest and see a single tree without losing sight of the forest, Ro." Glendenning came to stand over her as he spoke. "You can remember there are individual trees in that forest, but you can't always serve the needs of both tree and forest. It's a reality of being put in a position of power. No one can make the right decisions all the time. Sometimes you have to make the choice that's the most right, and hope for forgiveness."

Her eyes fell to her lap. She ran her fingers over the fabric of the green pants she'd replicated. She'd always liked dark green; this particular shade reminded her of fields of milaberry bushes on Bajor. When she looked up again a few moments later, she found that he'd crouched in front of her and was looking up at her face.

"Sometimes there is no right decision," he said. "There is a right that we can aspire to, and there is an internal right -- there is a truth we all have that's our own and no one else's. And when the choices that have no right answers come along, we each have to make the decision that's most loyal to that internal right, that self-definition we each have. To do anything else would make us less than what we are. I've been there. You've been there, you joined the Maquis. When individuals meddle in affairs larger than themselves, they either change themselves in meeting the challenge and become more than they are, or they shy away and become less. I could have stayed on Earth and been ordinary. You could have gone to Bajor after that prison term instead of being Starfleet, or a Maquis. Obviously, neither of us did. Principles, that's the ailment. Being true to your own personal sense of ethics. There comes a point at which principles make or break you."

He stood up and headed for the door. Hesitating just short of the sensor, he looked back out of the corner of his eye. "Are you rising to the occasion or falling short, Ro Laren? Are you going to let Admiral Dougherty, whoever he is, carry out whatever he's trying to hide? Because the equation's getting clearer -- the Son'a and Dougherty are working together, you say. I know the Son'a were trafficking white during the war. I know they're opportunistic and materialistic, and that they couldn't care less about anyone else's welfare. What isn't clear yet is why they want to find these mysterious Ba'ku, but I'll bet you know that. How long are you going to hang on to information that might help me, and Captain Picard, do the right thing? You can't hang in the middle for long. I'm with Jean-Luc -- hoping you haven't forgotten the rules of the game."

She couldn't breathe. He waited, nodded once, and turned to go. Long after the doors hissed shut, she stared at them, asking herself the question.

When the answer wasn't forthcoming, she began to stalk around the room like a caged animal. She wished her friends weren't all dead, either thanks to the baghead Son'a or the Cardies. She wished she were aboard the *Enterprise* -- just talking to Guinan about shipboard gossip would help make her feel better.

Leaving the guest quarters, she marched through corridors at random. Even rode lifts at random, taking the first one that opened on her current deck and leaving it on the heels of questioning crew then veering away from them to walk alone.

At some point, she heard running footsteps catching up to her, and Beverly drew even and walked with her. The doctor didn't look at her or say anything -- just matched her stride.

"I suppose the bridge put out the alert that I was wandering at large," Ro said after a minute of silent marching.

"Actually, one of my nurses questioned the sight of a strange Bajoran in green wandering the corridors. I thought you might be out walking off some steam. Tom said he left you in a state of mixed emotions."

"Tom. How well do you know him?"

Beverly smiled slyly. "Well enough to have my name next to his outside our quarters."

Ro backed away, coming up against the wall, and stared at her. "What?"

"It's not exactly a secret, Ro. Starfleet doesn't explicitly prohibit relationships between senior officers, you know."

"But. . . what about. . . ."

Beverly lost most of her smile and studied Ro. "You mean what about Captain Picard."

"Uh. . . well, yeah. Not that it was ever -- "

"Oh, please, you think I don't know about the rumors? I may have heard about them pretty late in the game, but. . . . He's a good friend, one of my best friends, but never -- but that's beside the point. What about Captain Picard, you ask. Well, he's married, that's what about him."

"Oh." Ro searched for words. "So, is it anyone I know?"

Beverly chewed her lip, then her fingernail. "Well. . . yes. Probably someone you wouldn't expect."

Ro tried to imagine the last person she'd expect Picard to marry. "How many pips?"

"She had two and a half when you knew her, but she took the bridge test and went to three."

"Nearly everyone with any inkling of command takes that test before they make lieutenant-commander, the exception being medical staff. . . if it wasn't you, then -- no, Ogawa was married. Troi's probably gotten together with Riker in spite of his commanding another ship -- if she went to first officer, they couldn't have stayed on the same ship. What?"

Beverly was shaking her head slowly. "Riker has a girlfriend named Christabel Sumners, on his own ship."

"Well, the captain's wife couldn't be Troi anyway, she's the first officer. I give up, who's Mrs. Picard?"

Beverly's slow smile didn't help. She leaned forward to squeeze Ro's arm -- a little startling, as she'd never done anything like it before. "I told you, it's the very last person you would expect. Deanna."

"No," Ro blurte, shaking her head, "no, I don't believe that. Not him -- he wouldn't marry a bridge officer, especially not second in command."

"Technically he married a counselor. She became first officer after some catching up." Beverly met her eyes, softening a little. "Ro, it's not that he's let his own principles slip -- they err on the side of caution. If either of them has ever broken a regulation, I've certainly never heard of it. In fact, I've heard Deanna almost go ballistic at the suggestion of it -- she wouldn't let him get away with it. I think she'd go straight to Internal Affairs herself."

"You're telling me that this is sanctioned, that no one's questioned -- "

Beverly's laughter surprised her. Tossing her hair back, the doctor put fingers to temple and closed her eyes. "Oh, they've been questioned. So have I. So has Tom. Of course, Tom and I are a bit different in that I'm in sickbay most of the time and only stand watch once in a while on gamma shift. With Dee and Jean-Luc, it's just different. Everything about them is. You should have seen them at the wedding."

Ro leaned against the wall for support. "Okaaaaay. . . . So, let me guess -- you were the maid of honor, and Riker performed the wedding?" she asked, drawing on what she knew from the one shipboard wedding she'd attended.

"And Data was the best man. See, you're good at this," Beverly exclaimed with a grin.

Hand to forehead, Ro slid down the wall. "I think I've just reached my limit. Any time now I'll wake up and find out I ate bad hasperat for dinner yesterday."

Beverly studied her, hands on hips. "Strange. That's about the same reaction the last few 1701-D alumni I've told have had. Tell you what -- let's go down to the gym and watch Tom taking on half the security department. He's found some new dangerous sport to try -- since I'll see most of them in sickbay anyway, I may as well see the enjoyable part, too. It'll get your mind off serious stuff for a while."

"I suppose." Ro took the offered hand up and followed the doctor. "Maybe you could tell me why I'm not in the brig, while we're at it?"

Beverly waited until they'd ridden down a couple decks in the lift and left a few people inside it as they made their way toward the gymnasium. "Because Tom likes you."

"That's it? That's all? No grand justifications or rationalizations?"

"There's something you apparently haven't noticed yet about Tom," Beverly said, eyes on the floor as she strolled casually down the corridor. "He makes up his mind about people very quickly. Sometimes his conclusions don't match up with what you'd expect from a starship captain."

"Yeah, well, he could get himself in a lot of trouble letting former Maquis run around his ship."

"Yes, he could," Beverly murmured sadly.

Ro met Beverly's blue eyes, and realized. "You're afraid he will?"

"It's his decision to make. Number one rule of officer fraternization within regulations -- personal and professional motivations remain separate. I can't appeal to him to do anything differently on duty unless it's something the ship's doctor would protest. Letting suspected criminals walk the corridors isn't one of those things. The security chief has been questioning it enough." They entered the gymnasium, crossing a large foyer into which the squeak of shoes on floors and shouting echoed from one of two corridors. "Besides, I'm a little more afraid of what's going to happen in the Briar Patch than anything else."

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 8

Jean-Luc headed for home.

At least Will and his two dozen crew were accounted for and no longer missing. At least they'd heard from Tom and sent off a reply. He could count that as progress made, but setting aside the Briar Patch and all its thorns wouldn't be easy.

Deanna had dinner ready, and greeted him with a kiss. As they sat down, he requested Handel's Water Music from the computer. Throughout the meal he watched her, reorienting himself on her, hoping that for this evening all could be set aside since it could be the last chance he had to do so.

She might have thought the same. She wore one of her loose dresses, a soft green with a drawstring at the neckline tied in a bow. Most of her attention seemed to be on her plate; her long lashes hid her eyes.

He cleared the table after dessert and removed his pips, leaving them on his desk. The jacket came off as he went in the bedroom; draping it on the back of a chair, he put away a few shoes left out on the floor. While pulling his shirt off he noticed a small box on the edge of the table. It had a fish symbol on the bottom.

When he pulled the contents from it and the packing material fell away, he saw that somehow she had managed to find an old-fashioned compass. Silver casing, black face, white lettering and hash marks, and a bobbing needle that swung freely whichever way he turned. A chain hung off the side with a clip intended to fasten it to a belt loop.

She stood behind him in the door, waiting. He didn't have to turn; knowing where she was had become as automatic as breathing.

"It's just like the one I had," he said. "Just like the one my grandfather gave me. The one I lost in the woods behind the house."

"I know. While we were in France I borrowed a tricorder and went out looking for it, our last night at the chateau. I was saving it for a special occasion. Sciences did a fantastic job of cleaning it up, didn't they?"

He went to her and held it up between them. The needled bobbed to a stop, pointing at him -- an arbitrary direction. She smiled, her eyes soft and glowing with affection.

"It's early to be a birthing gift, but I wanted to see you open it."

"It's an odd thing for a Betazoid birthing gift." She had given it to him early due to the uncertainty of the circumstances they found themselves in; it was supposed to be given after the birth, as per House tradition. Traditional birthing gifts tended to be more monumental, like stained glass windows at the House or the planting of a tree.

"It seemed appropriate."

He shook it gently and waited for the needle to stop again. This time it oriented on her. He thought about all that it could symbolize -- his childhood, because of where he had gotten it, and because he'd lost it for so many years. His ancestry, because his grandfather had gotten it from his grandfather before him. His direction, because it was the whole purpose of the compass, to find one's way. And she had found his compass for him, part of the childhood she'd helped him slowly reclaim and accept. And too, she had been his compass many times as a counselor.

"I think it's time for a change of music. Would you care to dance, Madame?"

Her smile deepened until her dimple showed. "I would love to dance, M'sieur."

Leaving the compass on the desk with his pips as they returned to the main room, he called for music appropriate for a slow waltz and turned to take her in his arms. Yves came between them; she sighed, looking down at herself woefully.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight? I think you must be the most shapely woman I've met."

She laughed silently at it, rolling her eyes, and draped her hand over his shoulder. "Have I mentioned that I really like the way you've done your hair?"

"You don't think the barber took off too much?"

"Not at all. I think it's perfect."

"Nothing's perfect," he said as they began to waltz gently across the floor. She turned, angling so that she could rest her cheek along his.

"Almost nothing, Jean-Fish. As always, there are exceptions to every rule. And you are quite exceptional, in so many ways."

"So there is an exception to the rule that there are always exceptions?"

"Don't give me headaches, cher fish."

"Sorry. You're right, of course. This. . . is perfect. I love you, Deebird."

"I love you, Jean-Luc," she whispered, her hand tightening on his.

They waltzed in silence. It would be perfect, he thought, but for the fact that the Briar Patch loomed outside the viewports, tinging them red and orange, holding all the potential of destroying perfection.

But for the moment, with her warm breath tickling his ear lobe and her body conforming to his as much as it could, with the heart fire enveloping them and the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the curls tickling his nose, it was perfect.

\---------------

There it went. . . . Ben swooped in closer, closer --

The enemy blossomed in a fireball. Ben veered around it, or tried, managing to only deplete the shields by five percent in avoiding the fallout. Laughing, he fell back on the couch as the next level loaded and the mission directive scrolled up in the heads-up display.

Level four. What a rush.

The annunciator made him sigh. "Computer, save game and discontinue." Throwing aside the gloves, he stood and straightened his shirt. "Come."

"Hi, Ben," Ward Carlisle said, striding into the room. "Want to come play poker? Captain Riker's getting a game together."

"Um, with whom?"

"So far me and that blond girlfriend of his, and Greenman, and I think LaForge might come -- he was talking to Riker on the comm when I came to get you. Why weren't you answering -- ah, I see. Playing Redman's Folly, eh?"

"Just beat level four. Sorry I didn't hear you. Let me change this shirt, the game got a little intense."

When he came out in a fresh shirt, Ben noticed Ward seemed deep in thought. "Something wrong?"

"Who didn't you want to play poker with?"

"Oh." Ben thought about scrambling to avoid saying anything, but if anyone understood what it was like dealing with them. . . . "I'm in the middle of the annual psych review of the captain and first officer. Maybe it sounds odd, but playing poker with them while I'm trying to put together a coherent report wouldn't help matters."

Ward's smirk said he did indeed understand. "Cecily and I have spent time with them off duty. They're an interesting pair, but much less confusing when they're not on duty. Still private, but not so rigid."

"Really? I haven't done much with them off duty. In fact, they tend avoid me."

Ward's brow furrowed. "I think you're imagining things. Why would they do that?"

"It's just something I've noticed -- they seem to disappear when I come in the officer's mess, or Ten Forward. I've noticed they spend time with most of the other senior staff off duty."

"If I didn't know better I'd think you were feeling left out. I'm sure it's nothing but coincidence. Come on, or they'll start without us -- I hear Captain Riker's a pretty good player. Should make for an interesting evening."

"Riker's a good friend of the Picards, isn't he?" Ben asked, following the second officer from his quarters.

"Yep. Captain's old first officer."

The simulation on holodeck four boggled even someone inured to the wonders of the technology. A shady porch overlooking a Risan beach, the four moons pale in the late afternoon sky, and holographic waitresses carrying trays of beverages. The captain in civvies, the nurse who was his girlfriend in a short-skirted bright red dress no blond should look that good in, Geordi LaForge, Natalia Greenman, and Cecily Carlisle were seated around the table, all smiling as Riker shuffled the deck.

"Counselor," he called out in greeting. "Glad you could join us. Most of my crew are still recovering, so I thought I'd take some money from someone else's senior staff for a change."

"Yeah, you wish," Greenman said, picking up a tall blue beverage. Ben hesitated in sitting down at that -- Natalia in counseling didn't sound that brash. Neither did Natalia on the bridge.

"Careful, or you'll go through another half dozen toothbrushes," Riker said, grinning.

"Nope, you aren't *my* captain and we're off duty, thanks anyway. Whenever you're done wearing out the cards?"

As he picked up the cards as they were dealt, Ben glanced around at the faces of the other players. Christabel, or Bell as she preferred to be called, would be difficult to read. So would Riker. LaForge pursed his lips as he studied his hand, and the Carlisles both broadcasted little. Greenman overreacted, rolling her eyes and sighing in exasperation.

"So when you're done with the reviews of the captain and first officer, are you working your way down the chain of command, or doing the rest of us in a more random order?" Ward asked, looking over his cards at Ben.

"Relax, you have another week or so of safety. It'll take me that long to figure out what to say."

Riker chuckled at it, and Bell glared at him, inexplicably.

"I'll tell you what you say," Cecily said, raising her chin. "You tell those busybodies at Starfleet to mind their own damn business."

"Cec, don't," Ward exclaimed. "Don't start."

"But it's not fair! I know I'd hate having Command nosing around in our private life."

"It's not like that," Ben said. "The assessments are always about performance on duty." Though heaven knew that was difficult enough.

The hand played itself out and another started, with Ben a little poorer -- but it was only chips. LaForge chuckled as he counted up his winnings and organized them by denomination.

The doors opened, displacing part of the jungle foliage and a large rock, and Guinan came in. "This an open game?"

"Sure, come on in, Guinan," Riker exclaimed happily. "Have a seat."

The hostess of Ten Forward came to take the chair between Ward and Riker. Ben had wondered about Guinan since she'd come aboard at Telix, about five months ago. She wasn't part of the official crew, wasn't related to anyone, didn't seem to know anyone but the captain and first officer. And Riker, apparently.

She knew how to play poker, too. The next two hands, in between jovial exchanges with Riker and his girlfriend, she cleaned up -- bluffed her way to big winnings twice.

"This is worse than playing with Commander Troi," Natalia complained.

"She asked me to fill in for her," Guinan said, smiling at the lieutenant.

"Uh huh."

"Oh, give it a few hands, I'll get it back from her," Riker said, leaning forward to get a card as Bell tossed it too far from him.

"Did you invite the Picards?" Bell asked. "I haven't seen any of you all day, at least not in off-duty mode, and I was hoping to feel Yves kicking -- he was too small when we were here last."

"Yves? He?" Cecily looked up, startled. "It's a boy?"

Bell gaped. "Oh -- I'm sorry! I forgot it wasn't -- "

"It's all right," Ward put in quickly. "It's not common knowledge off the bridge but most of us here knew it already."

"Most of us," Ben echoed. He hadn't known. Probably a quirk of fate or his own forgetfulness, but he didn't recall ever hearing anything about it -- but he wasn't on the bridge every shift, or for an entire shift when he was.

"You didn't tell me," Cecily exclaimed. "Your own wife!"

"You were placing bets in the pool -- I wasn't going to cheat."

"But I bet it was a girl!"

Natalia grinned. Cecily noticed, since she sat next to her, and eyed her. "And just what are you so happy about?"

"I was wondering if he'll look like more like his dad or his mom." She propped her chin in her hand, holding her cards out in her other hand. "Dr. Crusher's son looks more like his dad until he smiles. I'm guessing, anyway, I've never seen his dad, but he doesn't look much like her."

"You've met Wesley?" Riker blurted. "Where'd you see him?"

"When we were at Telix picking up Guinan he showed up. The captain scolded him for not visiting his mother. I ran across him first." Natalia wrinkled her nose. "It's a little embarrassing."

"I'm afraid to ask," Riker said, going sober.

Natalia's brown eyes came up, wide and startled. "Oh -- not like that. I was drunk. He was nice enough to haul me off to the hotel, and I, uh, drank so much that on the way I sorta puked. On his shirt. And I promptly fell asleep while he was trying to clean up. Weird guy, he completely disappeared not long after we went to Guinan's apartment."

"Wesley said he had some things to do before his transport left," Guinan said. Something about the set of her mouth said it hadn't been quite that, but close enough for the government.

"Huh. Wonder when the kid's going to show up again," Riker mumbled.

"He's hardly a kid any more." Guinan tapped her fingers on the table for another card and picked up the one Bell threw her.

"He's also almost as good-looking as. . . ." Natalia trailed off, staring at her cards, eyes slightly crossed. Guinan thumped the table.

"Hey, Nat -- you okay over there?"

"Yeah, sorry, guess I'm tired -- didn't get much sleep last night. Stayed up all night doing that," she yawned broadly, "report on the shuttle damage. I'm fine. Got to unwind before I can settle in anyway."

"You know, Guinan, we heard from Ro Laren?" Riker said quietly, glancing at the El-Aurian.

Guinan actually folded her hand and placed it face down on the table, steepling her hands over them. "You did," she said, as if not surprised.

"Sounds like she's on the *Venture* and trying to help us. She's been hiding in the Briar Patch with some of her friends."

"Interesting." Guinan's lack of expression and re-absorption in her hand might have been a subtle hint that she didn't want to talk about it. Riker got it, evidently, as he turned back to his own cards.

"So did you invite them?" Bell asked, leading Ben to think back to what her original question was.

"Sure, but Dee said she didn't think he'd be int. . . ." Riker glanced around the table, then turned to spend a long moment looking at his girlfriend, ignoring Ward, who sat between them. He tossed his hand down. "This is going to sound really rude, but -- come on, Bell. Let's see if there's an empty holodeck down the corridor. Have fun, folks. Sorry. Priorities."

Looking stunned, Bell abandoned her cards and drink to follow him out. The rest of them stared after them.

"Wonder what that's about?" Cecily asked.

Ward stared a moment longer, then tossed in his cards too and turned to his wife. "Where's Sarah?"

"She's probably doing her homework, why?"

"Let's go get her and see if she'd like to go for some ice cream."

"But -- "

"Think about it, Cec. Where we are, what we're not sure of?"

Cecily's blue eyes widened. "Oh. Okay."

Natalia watched them go, glanced around at the few people left, and slid down in her chair. "Crap in a hat," she muttered. "I forgot to finish that message to my mom."

And now she couldn't send it. Ben remembered suddenly the one he'd started two days ago to his sister in Chicago. He glanced at LaForge; the engineer sat sideways, leaning on the arm of the chair and tapping his finger thoughtfully on the table.

"I wonder if my mom thought about this, right before the *Hera* was destroyed. Or whatever happened to it," Geordi murmured. "They never found out."

"Captain Picard told me once the last thing my dad probably thought of was Mom and -- excuse me," Natalia blurted, knocking her chair over as she stood. Face averted, she hurried off, calling for the arch in a broken voice.

"I can see this is going to be a busy month," Ben said, sighing and pitching his cards down as well. He tried to ignore the thought that it would be a busy month if they were only lucky enough to have another month.

"Let's get a drink -- Guinan, you remember how to make a Zerkathian rum fizz?" Geordi asked.

Guinan pushed her chair away from the table. "Sure thing. Let's go down to Ten Forward and I'll mix you up a couple. Coming, Counselor?"

Ben nodded. "You bet your hat. I need a drink."

\---------------

Natalia entered her quarters and threw herself headlong on her bed.

This was a step up from the shared quarters she'd had as an ensign. Small, still one room and no viewport, but at least she wouldn't have anyone around to see her crying.

Afterward, she lolled on her side, eyes aching, feeling sticky. She didn't care. Through puffy eyelids, she looked at the framed picture she kept on the wall near the head of the bed. Her and Dad. Lieutenant-Commander Greenman and his fourteen-year-old daughter in dopey hats and holding fishing poles, sitting in a boat with Uncle Telly.

She thought about the Borg drone image she'd been shown at the Academy. Before then, she'd never known what a Borg looked like. Maybe the news net didn't get that kind of information because Command didn't want a panic. Or maybe they did, and her mother had censored what Natalia could see. The in-house computer could be programmed to do that sort of thing.

Her reaction to seeing a drone for the first time had been immediate and spectacular, resulting in the cadet sitting next to her getting a lapful of her lunch. She had been saved from complete humiliation only by the fact that others looked green-faced too, and two other cadets had fainted. She wasn't the only child of an assimilated officer.

This situation wasn't that dangerous yet. Captain Picard was calm -- she shouldn't worry overmuch.

But it wasn't a simulation, either. She could go through simulations now in her sleep, practically. She could run her holodeck Galaxy-class starship, the *Bumblebee,* through holodeck-generated confrontations with holodeck aliens, and sound like an officer in complete control of herself and her ship. This situation, with an admiral running around in a commandeered starship pitching people out the shuttle bay, wasn't something that could be banished with a word to the computer. And it wasn't the same as being below decks in engineering -- being on the bridge meant being included in briefings and looking out at whatever hostiles they were facing. Though she'd been alpha helm for the better part of the year, they'd not run into anything like this. Their missions had mostly been diplomatic or exploration, mapping and visiting alien civilizations, with a few rescues of crews of malfunctioning ships or, once, a subspace relay with a damaged power plant. Never had a Starfleet officer turned on them.

Would the admiral shoot at them, too? Or were those scorch marks really the work of the Son'a? And what were the Son'a like in battle? Her sims had all included known and past hostiles -- Ferengi, Borg, Jem'hadar, Romulans, even old-style Klingon cruisers. Once she'd thrown in an Orion pirate. Even head to head with other Starfleet cadets or officers, one of them had always taken on the role of an alien foe, non-Federation.

What did it mean when an admiral started doing things like this? If his actions were somehow justifiable, it meant a *lot* of trouble. If they weren't -- what did that mean for the rest of Starfleet? Was this a hint of some larger problem? The beginnings of the disintegration of an organization she'd joined out of a desire for adventure and for the preservation of the Federation her father had died defending?

If the ship were in immediate danger of destruction, a buoy would be launched containing all logs and unsent correspondence. She should do something. Her mother had buried an empty coffin once already; Natalia had hidden in her room and playing music loud to drown out the sound of her father's last message home -- a joking April Fool's message. Mom had listened to it on auto-repeat in her bedroom as she lay crying. Every afternoon. For two weeks. The sound of her father's laughter had turned into something Natalia had had nightmares about, always accompanied by the sound of her mother's sobs, muffled in a pillow.

"Computer, resume recording message to Melissa Greenman. Let's see, where did I leave off? Sorry about the scattered message, Mom, it's been a real busy couple of days. There's. . . something going on that I can't talk about yet. I know you hated it when Dad said stuff like that, but you know. Anyway, I put in for leave early, so hopefully I'll be home for Christm -- computer, pause."

Natalia jumped up and ran to take a shower. When she came out in her old pink pajamas, she ordered up a bowl of tomato soup and crackers, the Greenman recipe, and sat down at the table with it.

"Computer, resume. Like I said, I'll be home for Christmas. And don't worry about me eating right. I was just sitting down to a bowl of soup -- I went through a lot of recipes before I found one like yours." She crunched crackers into the soup and let the spoon strike the rim of the bowl. "Anyhow -- 'scuse me, I'm really hungry, sorry if I sound like I'm talking with my mouth full. I just got back from a poker game with Captain Riker. . . ."

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 9

They waited at the rendezvous point for nearly two hours. One point seven two, as Data would have said. Jean-Luc paced the middle of the bridge, Will paced the back of the bridge, and finally Deanna got up and marched a complete circle around it, bumping shoulders with Will and almost colliding with Jean-Luc. She sat down and crossed her ankles, then her arms.

Jean-Luc shook his head and took his seat. Ward, smiling at Deanna's silent ultimatum, turned back to ops. Natalia hadn't even noticed. The lieutenant wasn't her usual chipper self, hadn't been all morning, and Jean-Luc wondered if the seriousness of the situation weren't taking its toll. She wasn't the only one who exhibited unusual grimness. Traffic in the corridors that morning had also been more subdued. The closer to Deanna's due date it got, the more ebullient the crew had become, until they had rescued the abandoned shuttlecraft and the nature of the trouble began to circulate. The circumstances had put a damper on the celebratory mood; Ben had commented already on the upswing of visitors to his office, and Guinan had the same grim look in her eye as Dee when morale was mentioned.

"We are being hailed," deLio said casually, as if everyone hadn't been waiting pensively for it. "Captain Glendenning."

"On the main viewer, if you can," Jean-Luc said.

A few specks of interference marred the otherwise clear view of the bridge of the *Venture.* Tom stood in the middle of the floor, smiling his usual Cheshire way. "Well, there's a welcome sight. We're almost in transporter range. Why don't you pop on over for a conference and we'll see what sense we can make of things?"

"We'll be right over." Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna. She stared back, demanding to be included, but he turned for the lift. "You have the bridge, Commander." As he went up the ramp, he knew she was angry. {Deebird, do you think Ro would be so forthcoming if you were there? Pay attention, if you can.}

A fraction of a second's pause. {I understand. I'll try.}

As the lift doors closed, Will grunted. "I really don't envy you, Jean-Luc."

"In what respect? I have a lot to be envious of, you know."

Will's scowl would have looked right at home on Worf; it vanished when he couldn't hold it and laughed. "I meant the glare she gave you when you walked off and handed over the bridge."

"Ah, the Betazoid Death Glare. I've developed an immunity to it when the first officer does it."

"What about when your wife does it?"

Jean-Luc bit his lower lip briefly. "That's a different story."

Watching the flicker of the display as they descended past decks, Jean-Luc debated the wisdom of asking. Will saved him the trouble.

"Geordi finally told me what it was like, the year after I left. I wondered why I never heard from you. Can't count the times I almost sent you a message, but for the life of me I never knew what to say. Don't know why, either. Maybe thinking about what to say in correspondence only reminded me we weren't all together, on the *Enterprise*, and things would never be the same again."

The lift halted. They left it, sidling past a couple of lieutenants going in. Jean-Luc strolled purposefully toward the transporter room and Will kept up easily.

"At one time, it was the last thing I would have imagined," Will said, keeping his voice down. "But at the moment it seems only natural to think of you as a happily-married man. I've said it before, but. . . I'm glad you're happy together."

Jean-Luc paused outside the transporter room and eyed the other captain. Will only smiled, not puckishly. Raising an eyebrow, Jean-Luc straightened his uniform and went in.

deOrda, with his usual knack for knowing when the captain would be going somewhere, waited for them. Dissolving and reforming in the *Venture* transporter room took moments. Beverly waited for them.

"You didn't bring Dee," she exclaimed.

Jean-Luc and Will exchanged glances. "Do you feel as wounded as I do at this?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Oh, *shut up*!" Beverly looked at the attendant as if suddenly realizing. "This way, *captains.* If you please."

They followed her out. "She's lost weight," Will murmured. Beverly shot a glare over her shoulder at him.

"Gets lots of exercise, probably," Jean-Luc said, claiming a glare of his own.

"Got to work off all that liverwurst."

"Mmm. And her hair's longer than I remember -- I'll bet she's seeing one of those traditional sorts, who likes women with long hair."

Beverly spun and stopped both of them in their tracks with her furious expression. She couldn't hold it. "You're both terrible -- damn, it's good to see you," she exclaimed, flinging an arm around each of their necks.

"Doctor, if you don't mind. . . ."

She let go and backed off. "You can be such a curmudgeon, Jean-Luc! I haven't seen you in months and months and you can't even let me hug you?"

"That wasn't a hug," Will said, running a finger along his collar. "That was a strangle. You may have to surgically remove my pips, for crying out loud."

They followed her into a lift, where they displaced a surprised ensign who almost bumped into the side of the door looking over her shoulder, and once the doors closed and Beverly ordered it to deck three, she tried again, one at a time, with less choking. Jean-Luc returned the embrace fondly.

"Oh, wow, hey, get you married off and you start actually hugging people," she exclaimed. Jean-Luc shoved her lightly and scowled at her. She spun and gave Will the same friendly embrace, shaking him by the shoulders afterward. "You got me in trouble, you big jerk. Sending me flowers that way."

"I only wanted to thank you for knocking sense into me. Literally -- do you always flatten starship captains who don't pay attention to your advice?"

Beverly eyed him disapprovingly. "At least you followed it once I did. The two of you are actually relaxed while standing within arm's length of each other. I thought you'd *never* get it out of your systems."

"Has Ro changed?" Jean-Luc asked, mostly to change the subject.

"Why do people *ask* me these questions?" Beverly exclaimed. "I never really knew her that well. I don't know. She's hiding something from us, she isn't sure about Tom, and she never really got to know Data either. Tom's hoping she'll talk once you're here."

"I don't know what difference my presence will make -- "

"You realize she joined the Maquis because she felt it was the only moral thing for her to do?" Will asked. "She honestly regretted disappointing you."

"She might have been an excellent officer. She could have risen above her record."

Beverly's blue eyes accused. "Jean-Luc, she was fighting for her people. For justice, because what the Cardassians did was so unjust and no one else was doing anything. You can't tell me you wouldn't do the same -- you've done it. Or are we conveniently forgetting confronting the Borg in spite of orders to stay on the Neutral Zone?"

"That was different." Jean-Luc met their eyes, unwavering. "We had a treaty with the Cardassians when she defected. We had no treaty with the Borg. The Maquis were terrorists, and while I may have sympathized with their motivations in part, their actions --"

"Ro didn't have a treaty with the Cardassians. Bajor wasn't a Federation member until after all was said and done." Will leaned against the wall. "You're here in the Briar Patch in spite of being ordered away by an admiral."

"Admirals can be traitors, and stop dragging in every unrelated thing you can think of to muddy the argument. She deserted Starfleet -- race doesn't matter in the fleet, she took the same oath -- "

"That's bullshit, and you know it." Beverly crossed her arms. "Don't fling around the oath when you've got prime directive violations and ignored orders to your credit. Ro has her principles, so do you, and the only reason you're upset is because you took it personally."

Jean-Luc glared at her. "Tom's been rubbing off on you, I don't recall that references to excrement were your usual -- "

"I'm beginning to feel like I'm in another staff meeting back on the *Enterprise,*" Will exclaimed. "Knock it off, already. The sound of your heads butting together is giving me a headache."

The lift stopped and the doors opened. Jean-Luc strode out without another word, feeling their eyes on his back as he went down the corridor. He stopped at the first junction and looked back, then went back to the door they waited in front of.

"Teach you to get pissy and stomp off," Beverly muttered. "You'd better not get all upset at Ro. She's had a rough time since the last time you saw her and you ought to give her the chance to be a changed person before you start wagging a finger at her."

"I am only upset because you picked a fight with me on the way up here."

"How is Dee?" she asked, grabbing his arm as he turned for the door.

"Fine. Right, Will?"

"Fine enough to glare holes in her CO's back because he wouldn't let her come along for the meeting. And big -- I'm thinking the kid'll pop out fully grown."

Jean-Luc glared at him and went in the briefing room, biting off a reply.

\---------------

"I heard the admiral shot them," Ensign Wagner exclaimed. "And it got me to thinking, what if he starts shooting at us? What if these Son'a start -- "

"Ensign, I think you ought to rely a little less on gossip and a little more on the command staff of this ship." Ben had rehearsed this five times already and it wasn't even lunch yet. "There's no proof that the admiral is doing any such thing. For all we know, the admiral is under fire as well. We rendezvoused with the *Venture* and we'll be collaborating with them until the mission is over. Remember your training."

"I remember, but -- what if this is another Dominion war? The Son'a weren't part of the Dominion, but they were -- "

"Ensign, please. We're a starship. We're out here to handle just this sort of thing. Captain Picard knows what he's doing."

Wagner looked at the top of his desk, her soft hazel eyes full of woe. "You're right, of course. I joined Starfleet to make a difference -- sometimes that means taking big risks. It's just unnerving, it's all over the ship, those crew we took aboard are so traumatized."

"You would be traumatized, too, in a disabled shuttle with no idea if anyone would ever find you, no power, being fired upon. But they held up until they were rescued and then let it all go. They remembered their duty as officers and did their best to perform it. As we all should. Right?"

She smiled weakly. "You're right, Counselor. I guess I'm just not used to sitting and waiting for something to happen. It's happened before, but not much. Usually things happen on this ship so fast you're not given the luxury of being able to sit around thinking about it."

They discussed a few ways to combat the rambling thoughts that turned to fear, and he smiled as she took her leave and strode from his office. The smile fell the instant the door closed. Slumping, he looked at the chron, and wondered when he should expect Natalia. She hadn't looked so good last night.

In the respite between visitors, he resumed recording the message to his sister, futile as it might be. At least it made him feel better that he'd done it. Not that he'd care, if anything fatal happened, but while there was life, there was hope. Just saying the things he really should have told her the last trip home settled him.

He admitted the next person a few minutes later, trying to not look tired, and as he sat up and composed himself, Troi came in. The maternity uniform made her look bigger than she was, and in his small office she looked bigger still.

"Commander, what can I do for you?"

"It's more a matter of what I can do for you." She stood at the corner of his desk -- her old desk -- and smiled. "I know everyone's on edge, and you've probably seen nervous people. I've been fielding the questions, too. I just wanted to thank you for being supportive. It would be easy in these circumstances to begin doubting Starfleet in general."

"I know better. And even if it were Starfleet in general, I know Captain Picard wouldn't do any such thing -- he disobeyed orders and stuck around to find those people, and he'd do the same if it were his own crew."

She stepped around the desk and put a hand on his shoulder. "I've been so wrapped up in being pregnant that I've neglected to tell you what a good job you've been doing as ship's counselor. I know it's probably not easy, when the previous counselor is still aboard and people are prone to comparisons -- but you've never given me a reason to regret giving up the post to you, Ben. You've managed to befriend even Natalia, and she was probably the wariest of my patients. I appreciate that, as I've worried sometimes about some of my patients, but I can sense that they're doing fine in your care."

Ben gaped up at her. "Uh -- thanks," he stammered.

Deanna turned for the door. "There will be another staff meeting when the captain is done -- I'm not certain how long he'll be on the *Venture* but I'll let you know. Hopefully we'll have answers to a lot of the questions that have come up."

Ben gaped a while longer, and finally it struck him. The commander wasn't immune. She'd been thinking of all the things she'd never said to people, too. And she of all people would know the most about the situation.

Keeping up a pleasant facade for the person who came in ten minutes later was harder to do than before.

\---------------

Ro turned as the door opened. Picard. In the new uniform he looked different -- so did Riker. The black had a thinning effect, making Will look taller.

"Jean-Luc," Glendenning exclaimed. "Good to see you again. Too bad it's evidently coincided with a bout of indigestion." He held out a hand, which Picard shook without hesitation; a firm, brief contact as between friends.

"Indigestion," Picard said, traces of anger in his voice despite the friendly hand-clasp. "Tell your CMO not to yell at me in the lift if you'd rather see me smiling."

"Ah, she's a firebrand, isn't she? But you'd know that -- coffee? Tea? I suggest chamomile, it's quite soothing."

"Explanations," Picard exclaimed, taking a seat. The table in this small conference room was round, and he'd put himself directly across from Ro but not looked at her yet. She forced her eyes up, keeping them moving, meeting Will's briefly -- what did he think of Troi and his former CO? Evidently he didn't mind; he glanced at Picard and back at Ro, then sat next to the other captain and asked Glendenning for coffee.

"Didn't get much sleep," Will sighed as he took the cup. "Bell kept turning on the light -- she's always had a mild claustrophobia and being trapped in a powerless shuttle with nine people nearly drove her crazy. You seen or heard anything from my ship?"

"Not a whimper. Then again, I'm being fashionably late in reaching the rendezvous. I imagine Dougherty's going to be screaming mad by the time I get there, but when I'm welcomed by former Maquis in a shuttle that looks like it's been used as a Klingon chew toy, I get a little curious about what's really going on." Glendenning straddled a chair, turning it backward on purpose.

"What I know so far is that the crew of the *Lexington* has been convinced that the admiral will space anyone who questions his authority," Picard said, meeting Glendenning's gaze. "If the admiral has the Council's support, there's something very serious afoot. If on the other hand there is something amiss, and he's not acting under any kind of authority. . . ."

At that point, he looked Ro in the eye, and it was all she could do not to stammer. "I don't know how much good it will do, but I guess I should start at the beginning and tell you the whole story, so you hear it all in context."

"The beginning of your experience in the Briar Patch?"

Ro finally allowed her gaze to fall on the table. "When my group got here, we had next to nothing left of our ship. It was an old Cardassian shuttle, and the twenty-seven of us made it this far and couldn't go further. We liked the look of the patch and searched through it for a planet we could live on, and came across the Ba'ku."

That much she'd already told Glendenning, but she'd skimped on details. If anyone could help, if anyone would, Picard would be the one to do it. Riker, too. Setting aside the cup of cold coffee she hadn't been drinking anyway, she put her elbows on the table and launched into it.

"We noticed a very small community when we entered orbit, a thousand or so, and that the mountain ranges are full of kelbonite -- confuses sensors like no one's business. Sounded like an ideal setup -- if anyone came in the system, we could run for the mountains and hide. Most of us wanted to set down somewhere and just live there, because those people would never know we were there. There were a few of us who thought we should make our presence known, just because we would need to know what to expect if we ever did chance to make contact with them. A few of us did make contact in the end. It turned out that it was the smart thing to do -- the Ba'ku took exception to our being there, and when we told them our ship was in such a sad state they gave us theirs. They didn't need it any more, they said, because the planet they'd colonized was their home now. The ship was in amazingly good condition -- it was a beauty, too, sleek and powerful. They'd kept it in a cavern some distance from the settlement. Never would have found it for all the kelbonite. They also gave us some equipment they'd used to get their settlement started, as they had reverted to more primitive means of agriculture, so when we did settle down somewhere we'd have a head start."

All three men listened intently, probably wondering what this had to do with the Son'a or Dougherty -- at least they let her talk without interruption. Picard's impassiveness was actually encouraging. She swallowed some residual nervousness -- he wasn't her commanding officer any more, but the old urge to meet his expectations was still there, in spite of everything.

"While we were looking over the equipment and the Ba'ku were teaching us how to use it, I noticed that a lot of them looked sad for some reason. It turns out that there were six hundred colonists, originally -- and most of them are still alive. The Ba'ku came here almost four centuries ago, after the technology they'd developed almost destroyed their society. They were explorers like Starfleet, actually became nomadic after their sun went nova and lived entirely in space, but eventually they reached a stage at which their people were abusing technology to the point of being dangerous. The ones who took us to the cavern went because they were the ones who could remember how to use the equipment. A century ago, some of their adult children wanted to know what technology was like -- they wanted to revive it. Some 'offlanders' stopped in for a visit and got their imaginations going. They didn't care that their elders had abandoned it because of the possible dangers. There was a conflict, and when all was said and done, the dissenters left the planet in one of the ships and were exiled -- before they departed one of the original colonists planted a program in the ship's computer to wipe out all information on this sector. Not that the exiled cared much. Until now, anyway."

"You're implying that the Ba'ku planet is what Dougherty and the Son'a are looking for," Will said.

"Nope. I'm saying it. The Son'a are the exiled Ba'ku. Ever see one? They look like they're falling apart at the seams -- their skin is literally stapled to their heads. I saw one during the war." She paused, remembering, and thought better of telling them that she'd bought weapons from the Son'a, who didn't care who their customers were, as long as they had latinum up front. She and Yasiful had gone together to a Son'a ship to make the deal. She'd thought it strange at the time that more than ninety percent of the crew were Ellora.

"It's hard to see they're the same as the Ba'ku, because all the people on the planet look almost human, and the Son'a look like they've been exposed long-term to some destructive form of radiation. They're probably looking for home in the hope of regenerating themselves. The Ba'ku said that there were only about a hundred of the Son'a, and I know their ships are mostly crewed by Ellora and Tarlac. They found the planet my group settled on, detected the Ba'ku technology, came screaming down out of nowhere and killed all but four of us -- Sarah and I were getting something out of the ship, Gary was close by, and Desa's a fast runner. We took off, with three ships in pursuit. Bastards shot at the ship when it was on the ground and it barely made it into space. And then we came across *Renton* and suddenly the bagheads stopped shooting at us. The next thing we know, they're telling Captain Ventana we started the whole thing. Of course the Maquis would do that -- of course we'd just give away our perfectly peaceful hideaway by attacking some strange ship wandering through. That makes *so* much sense," Ro exclaimed bitterly.

"How do you know the Son'a are the same as the Ba'ku?" Picard asked.

"Oh, let's see, must have been when they screamed something to the effect of 'you exiled us,' when I tried to hail them as a last resort. There was a lot more to it than that, of course -- lots of raving and spitting. Then they figured out we weren't Ba'ku. I didn't put all of it together until we were beamed aboard the *Renton* and the Son'a towed off the ship. Bagheads claimed we stole it from them. It looked an awful lot like theirs, so of course the stuffed shirt captain believed them."

"So the Ba'ku gave you a ship and agricultural equipment, sent you on your way, you settled somewhere in the Briar Patch, the Son'a came looking and found you instead, and tried to wipe out people they thought were their parents?" Will sniffed. "I may not always be happy with Dad but I don't think I've ever wanted to shoot him. Not really, anyway."

"You said they were looking for home, to regenerate themselves?" Picard rose and took the four steps to the replicator, evidently deciding he wanted something after all.

"One of the Ba'ku told me that it was their planet that does it. They came here because of the secluded nature of the planet -- they found out after living here for a few decades that the rings around their planet concentrates the metaphasic radiation in the area in such a way that it regenerates and preserves living tissue. Their normal life span is about the same as a human's. It takes years for the effect to actually reverse aging, but -- my group spent a month on Ba'ku learning to use that equipment, and in that time I regrew two fingernails I'd lost. I also had fractures and scars -- they're all gone now. Desa's ears were nicked and her tail broken in several places, and patches of her fur were missing -- they all regrew. Sarah's back had long scars on it, Gary had some too, and they're all regenerated."

Picard sat again and thought for a few moments -- all three of them seemed caught up in contemplation of this revelation. She wondered if they would recognize that the injuries were inflicted at the hands of Cardassians. Starfleet took some things for granted, regenerative technology among them. Picard was living proof of that.

"It sounds as though they might also be seeking vengeance, if they were so overwrought that they attacked your settlement without hesitation," Picard said, raising his steaming cup of coffee. "But that doesn't explain why the Federation is in this -- quite the opposite. This qualifies as a civil disagreement and interference goes against regulations, unless there's a formal request for mediation."

"The Federation doesn't know -- not that I noticed," Ro said. "The Son'a lied about our settlement and who shot who, they'll lie about everything and anything else if it means they'll get what they want. Since this is technically Federation space they probably have to deal with Starfleet just to get here without being questioned."

"But what's in it for the Federation? That's what I'm not seeing," Will exclaimed, shoving aside his empty cup. "Why was I tossed off my own vessel?"

Ro noticed the way Riker flushed, the rising belligerence in his voice, and wanted to know the same thing. What was Dougherty up to? Because the few times Ro had heard the man's voice while Ventana took orders from him, the hair on the back of her neck had stood straight up. Ventana had asked questions and gotten no answers, but still obeyed orders.

"So the Ba'ku planet regenerates, heals old wounds -- it would explain why Beverly's so overwrought about all the tests she's run on them." Glendenning gave Ro a smile. "Ro's friend Sarah listed a lot of injuries, but Bev couldn't find a trace of them. She declared them too fit to be former Maquis, given the histories they claim."

"That's Sarah, honest to a fault," Ro said. "She was the most solid one of the whole group -- not technically inclined, but loyal and determined. She operated a day care center. She had grandchildren of her own, and every last one of them were killed when Starfleet wouldn't do anything to -- "

"You say the Ba'ku gave you a ship, and other implements. That they themselves foreswore technology." Picard's interruption had a crispness to it that brought her to attention. Amazing how he could do that to her, after all those years. "They claimed the planet."

"Yes. All they wanted was to be left alone."

"Did they also claim the space surrounding the planet? If so, why didn't they set out marker buoys, establish some way of warning people off?"

"I guess they were relying on the Briar Patch and all the turbulence in it to do that. Can't go to warp inside it, so they figured no one would bother. There's not a lot here in the way of resources either. Don't know about claiming the space, they never said anything about it."

"You didn't tell Ventana or Dougherty about the Ba'ku helping you, or the Son'a and Ba'ku being the same people."

Ro didn't allow overt reaction, other than a shake of the head. "No, I couldn't. I won't. Anij and the rest of the Ba'ku helped us -- they didn't even care that we'd been terrorists. And it was one of the first things Anij asked about -- why we had so many injuries, why our ship was battle-scarred. I could just tell she wouldn't hold it against me, and she didn't -- she reminds me of Guinan, she just has that look in her eyes. I told her all about prison, and. . . ."

And the rest of her life. Something had prompted the unwinding of Ro Laren. Whether it was the sedate pace of life in the settlement, the quiet habits of her hostess, or the tranquility of village life. Anij had listened -- that was what reminded Ro of Guinan, more than anything else. The listening, the lack of judgement. The willingness to take her as she was that instant, setting aside the past. That had been the most attractive thing about serving with Picard. He had recognized something in her that other fleeters hadn't and given her the chance, once Guinan had interceded and made him pay attention.

She looked at Glendenning -- it struck her then that she had been trying so hard not to trust him, and he'd been doing the same thing Captain Picard had done. Extending trust. He'd even done it without the intervention of someone else.

Ro flicked her gaze over the three faces before her and looked down at her hands where they rested on the table.

"That's all I know," she said huskily. "I wish I could do more. I'd like to help the Ba'ku. They don't deserve whatever the Son'a are probably going to do to them. If Ventana and Dougherty are helping the Son'a. . . . I'd like to return the shuttle to the *Renton*. At ramming speed. All those times I thought I'd die, in the war -- all those friends I lost -- if all I have to look forward to now is another prison term, I'd much rather just die protecting the only real friends I have left. Whatever that admiral's doing here, it's wrong. I don't even have to know what it is. If they threw Will off his ship without explanation or cause, if they have the three of you questioning it, something's wrong."

The room fell silent. She waited, unable to look at them, and finally asked, "If that's all, can I go now?"

Someone stirred in his seat. "Yes. Thank you," Picard said.

Ro made her way out without looking at them, and meandered slowly to her quarters. She turned out the lights and lay on the bed, staring at the Briar Patch outside.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She wasn't sure who she apologized to, or exactly why. It didn't feel as though she'd done enough, or perhaps she'd done something wrong. So she apologized, to whomever or whatever she'd betrayed or let down to make her conscience ill at ease.

It didn't help.

~@~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 10

Jean-Luc watched her leave, let his eyes drop to meet Will's, and a sad smile tugged at his mouth. "She's been through a lot."

"Been a rough time for her." Tom rested his chin on his hands on the back of his chair. "Her friends have been busily disassociating from her, the more time she spends with the fleeters -- when she mapped the Briar Patch for us even the Caitian withdrew, and she seemed the most loyal friend Ro has among them. Even though Ro mapped the patch wrong. I asked her for the location of the Ba'ku planet, what she gave us was this rendezvous point we're at right now."

"I thought she didn't talk to you."

"She didn't, Will. All I got was the bare fact that the Son'a wanted the Ba'ku, and we extrapolated from there that Starfleet must be helping -- this sector's been waiting to be mapped for quite some time. It just hasn't been a priority until now." Tom's eyes smiled at Jean-Luc. "She's kept a lot to herself, but she opened right up for you. I can tell she has a lot of respect for you. Not to mention a healthy sense of right and wrong."

"Her own sense of right and wrong," Jean-Luc mumbled.

"Jean-Luc was angry when she -- "

"She had a job to do, she abandoned it," he snapped, glaring at Will out of the corner of his eye. Will gazed back unperturbed.

"I think Beverly's right. You took it personally."

Even as anger spiked, the predictable happened. "Troi to Picard."

"Yes, Commander?" he replied dully.

"She told you the truth. And you're angry."

"Funny, Will was just saying the same thing." His wry tone got him dubious looks from Tom and Will.

"Did she tell you why Dougherty is behaving this way?"

"She doesn't know, but I suspect it has something to do with the Ba'ku. It's a long story, I'll tell you the important details when I get back."

"The long range probes we sent just went off sensors, but one of them detected a ship before it vanished. Unknown configuration -- not enough data to identify, but enough to know it wasn't a Federation vessel."

Tom thumped his fingers on the table in rhythm. "Plan of action," he half-asked.

"The Ba'ku qualify as a warp-capable species -- contact is allowable. If Dougherty won't tell us what interest the Federation would have in them, perhaps the Ba'ku can." Jean-Luc glanced from Tom to Will.

"Think it has something to do with the regenerative properties of the planet?" Will asked. "That's pretty impressive -- can you imagine living centuries beyond your normal life expectancy without technological intervention?"

"Well, think about this for a minute. We have technology that can regenerate wounds, but not all wounds. We have technology that attempts to reverse aging that doesn't always succeed. We have surgeries and implants and cloned organs. They have a planet that does it without invasive procedures -- all that's required is time. The place has great potential as a retirement community." Tom kept drumming away at the table, staring at nothing. "Unless they're trying to find a way to duplicate the effects of the radiation, so people wouldn't have to come all the way here. . . ."

"If the Son'a are lying to the Federation about their motives for finding the planet, and the Federation's motive is to study the phenomena and possibly duplicate it, that would be understandable. It does not explain why Dougherty commandeered the *Lexington.*" Jean-Luc sagged in his chair, lip curling. "Ro is right. There is something wrong, and something must be done. And whatever that is, it will have to include Tom meeting the admiral as planned."

"I suppose you'll be visiting the Ba'ku," Tom said. "You'll have to be careful you don't have non-Federation ships following you."

"Actually, I think there's something that can be done about that," Deanna said, reminding them she was still there. "The other reason I called was to let you know that Geordi and Batris have a way of dealing with the communications and sensor limitations. They've designed a probe, a combination of a class eight and a class six -- essentially a communications array in a class eight casing, with a shield generator to lengthen its life span within the turbulence of the Briar Patch and a more efficient deuterium power supply. The modified metaphasic shielding they've been working on should give each probe adequate protection. If *Venture* and *Enterprise* both leave probes at appropriate intervals, we should be able to stay in direct contact, and with the addition of a standard sensor pallet we'll also know when other ships pass within range of them. We can program them to perform simple evasive maneuvers to hopefully keep them out of sensor range of any vessel not broadcasting proper identification coding. Will, stop laughing at me!"

Jean-Luc gazed at Will, whose startled amusement showed through his attempts to hide it. "Why would he do that, I wonder?"

"I'm not used to hearing you sound like. . . that," Will exclaimed. "Sorry. Since when are you reading people and responding to it?"

"Transmit the specifications for the modified probe to the *Venture* -- have senior staff in the briefing room in half an hour. Picard out." Jean-Luc smirked at Riker. "Teach you to laugh at one of my officers."

"Well, I'm sorry, I haven't had much opportunity to accustom myself to the new Commander Troi. It's a little much, hearing her like that."

"I'll go meet the admiral, you'll go meet the Ba'ku," Tom said. "What about Ro and her friends? I haven't thrown them in the brig, in hopes of getting them to cooperate, but so far the only one who's cracked has been Ro. I'd have to guess the admiral wouldn't be too happy that I'm not placing them in high security lockup, considering they probably did considerable damage to the poor *Renton* getting away from them."

The annunciator went off. All three captains turned as one to the door. "Come," Tom said, and Ro came in wearing a resolute expression.

"The admiral's not going to be any more forthcoming with Captain Glendenning than he was with anyone else," she said. "I think my friends and I can help."

"How so?" Will asked.

"The admiral ordered Ventana to use us to find the Ba'ku -- since we knew the area, we were supposed to map it and help them any other way we could, in exchange for lighter sentencing, or maybe even a pardon. Dougherty was supposedly going to see what he could work out with the folks back at Command. I didn't believe he really intended to do that, but I know the three of you would mean what you say."

"You want to make a deal," Tom said.

"We're already officially terrorists." Ro gazed intently at Tom. "We're already damned no matter what we do. We're on your ship at your mercy. Desa and Sarah will be motivated to help the Ba'ku, same as me, and Gary will go where Sarah does. If we get back in that shuttle and you set us adrift for the *Lexington* to find, I could make them believe that it was an internal thing -- that I wanted to cooperate with Starfleet for a lighter sentence and my friends didn't agree with that. And that they knocked me out and took me with them so I couldn't give away anything else, and once we were under way I convinced them that we really have nowhere to go and Starfleet would eventually find us anyway. I can tell Dougherty what he wants to know. You can be waiting for him. I can be on the *Lexington* to see what actually happens there, maybe even take messages to the crew from their captain."

Jean-Luc mulled over that. "If the admiral has legitimate cause for his actions -- "

"Do you have legitimate cause to question? Are you in a defensible position? We could stage another shuttle stealing if -- "

"This isn't an Oberth full of scientists, Ro." Tom stood, resting a hand on the back of his chair. "This is a new ship, with all kinds of fun things to prevent possible intruders from waltzing merrily through the corridors with phasers. I was relatively certain you weren't a risk -- you seemed too happy to find someone who knew your former CO. Your friends I wasn't so sure about. Especially the fidgety one."

Ro smiled thinly. "Gary wouldn't be my first choice for anything sensitive. He's too prone to leaping in before looking where he's going."

"Explains why he thought the relay room on deck fourteen was a weapons locker. He probably didn't count on half the security department coming out of the gym and surrounding him. They thought it was pretty funny when he told them he thought it was a turbolift."

Ro's hand went to her forehead as she winced. "Typical. So you're saying you don't think it's a workable idea. Oh, well, I tried."

"Ro, wait." At the sound of her former CO's voice, she stopped and turned around again. Jean-Luc rubbed his upper lip thoughtfully. "You and your friends will be joining us aboard the *Enterprise.* There's no reason for Dougherty to know Tom ever saw you. I believe you can help -- I can assume from your story that the Ba'ku will not be likely to trust me, if I beam down to speak with them. They may be more open to discuss this with me if you are there."

"Probably so."

Tom sat up, giving the impression he would have jumped up and paced if not for self-control. "We're sure Dougherty had orders? Genuine ones?"

"He appeared to have orders," Will said. "We rendezvoused with him at the perimeter of the patch. He contacted Starfleet from my ready room. I wasn't in the room with him, but it went through my tactical -- my tac chief would have noticed anything suspicious."

"Who was it he spoke to?" Tom asked, just as quietly.

"Harris."

"Bloody hell, Will, why didn't you mention that before?" Jean-Luc muttered. Admiral Harris was one of a few Special Ops brass he had at least met.

"I didn't know there was any significance to it. I thought it was pretty obvious already that Intelligence had something to do with this, if it were at all legitimate."

"Harris isn't someone I would have trusted." He tapped his comm badge. "Picard to Troi. One shuttle, one pilot, plot the shortest course for the perimeter of the Briar Patch. If Geordi has any modifications that would allow the shuttle to exceed one-third impulse, they would be welcome. I'd like to hear the options when I get back."

"I'll let Geordi know. Did you have a particular pilot in mind?"

"I thought I'd send Will, since he seems to be angry enough to tackle Nechayev."

"Ah. I see. Anything else?"

"Yes, just out of curiosity -- how would *you* escape from a Sovereign-class starship in a shuttlecraft?"

A few moments of silent consideration. Jean-Luc glanced at Ro, who seemed more than a little shocked that he'd ask Deanna Troi.

"That depends. Am I a guest, or a prisoner?"

"A guest. The captain quite foolishly decided that you appeared to be trustworthy in spite of your Maquis background, and allowed you the run of the ship, barring sensitive areas."

"Do I have any friends?"

"Three fellow Maquis, not former Starfleet like you."

"Are any of the friends female?"

Jean-Luc rolled his eyes. "One Caitian, one human male, one human female."

"And, say, one El-Aurian, who happens to be a friend, and pestered the first officer until she was allowed to beam over for a visit? Who conveniently helps create a distraction in another part of the ship, possibly with the help of the female friend, while I disabled the relays at junctions R152 and T341, using a tricorder to deceive the computer into believing the relays were operational, then disabling the sensor grid in the shuttle bay, then accessing the weapons cache in the corridor outside the main bay before stunning the attendant, reprogramming the shuttle to lock out main computer control, starting a fire to blow the emergency doors and initiating a vertical launch out the top of the bay."

"Where did you come up with this scenario?"

"It's a modification of one Natalia came up with in one of her simulations. Aliens take over the ship and the officer must get a shuttle free to go for help, as the senior officers are all captured and unable to initiate auto destruct. There's more to it, of course, because the distraction has to be of a particular kind, innocuous yet enough to get the ops manager to look away from his board during the lag between the relays going down and the tricorders coming online."

"I thought it sounded like classic Greenman. A Troi would have involved a tight dress, swallowing a comm badge, or perhaps wielding a length of pipe."

"Or a wheel of cheese?"

"Or Ferengi. Get the hell to the staff meeting, I'll be there shortly. Picard out."

Tom burst out laughing and fell into his chair. "Wheel of cheese. God."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow at him. "They worship strange things in Oregon. Are you coming with us, or would you rather stay here and utter a few Muenster mantras?"

As they departed for the transporter room, Ro followed hesitantly. She said something to Riker that Jean-Luc didn't catch.

"No, he's always had that sense of humor. He stopped starching his underwear, that's all," Will muttered, though not low enough.

Pivoting, Jean-Luc crossed his arms and glared. "What?"

"She asked about Tom," Riker deadpanned. Tom sidled around them as if wanting to be clear before the fight started.

"Mm hmmm." Jean-Luc resumed walking. "And I'm Admiral D'tok'alla."

Tom laughed out loud all the way to the transporter room. Probably at the thought of Jean-Luc sprouting eye stalks, an extra set of arms, pincers, and chitin armor in a brilliant shade of yellow -- which was, Jean-Luc had to admit, a pretty funny thought. Especially if he thought about greeting Deanna at the door to their quarters that way. It might even be adequate revenge for the negligee relocation project -- perhaps with the fringe benefit of curtailing further appearances of lacy items in his uniform drawer.

\---------------

The addition of two captains and a former Maquis to the staff meeting startled most of the senior staff. By the end, Ben understood a lot more about what they were facing -- he could see several possible motives for the admiral to behave as he was. A place where aging actually reversed and old wounds healed could be beneficial to many, especially war victims. Starfleet may want to keep it secret until they discerned the full potential of the place.

As the Bajoran waxed lyrical about the planet and the peaceful people on it in response to questions, Ben thought about friends who had been traumatized in the war who would benefit from the slower lifestyle the Ba'ku had. Ro had an unusual light in her eyes as she spoke. This wasn't a typical Maquis, and he bet her time among the Ba'ku had contributed to that. He'd read about Maquis, dealt with a few of them after Galisi while Counselor Troi had been recuperating from her injuries, and knew that typically the remnants of the terrorist force were emotionally closed, sometimes passive-aggressive, sometimes openly hostile to anyone Starfleet. Ro was neither.

Wary, yes, but though she showed tension most of the time, when she opened up about the Ba'ku she lost a lot of it. She looked to Picard continually as if seeking reassurance, and gave Troi suspicious glances -- she'd lost her voice and stood open-mouthed after entering the room and seeing Deanna pregnant. Interesting dynamic there. Ben knew from initial introductions that Ro had once been the conn officer and served with both Troi and Picard. He hadn't known many who actually disliked Troi. He knew some were nervous around her, because they weren't aware of how strict her empath's ethics were, or because they didn't know yet how to react to the captain's wife/first officer combination. But actual dislike was rare -- non-existant aboard the *Enterprise* so far as Ben knew.

At the conclusion of the meeting, Ben watched the last of the *Enterprise* staff depart, leaving only the captain and first officer, and their guests. He pretended to study the padd in front of him until Glendenning and Ro left as well.

"Is there something you wanted to discuss, Ben?" Troi asked.

"I have to wonder if perhaps the admiral isn't simply expecting obedience. He's overreacting, of course, but. . . what if the metaphasic radiation is affecting us as we stay in the Briar Patch? If the concentration of it in the rings of a planet can reverse aging, would exposure in space have a different effect? What if the admiral is being influenced by it? Physical changes can affect the behavior -- especially if hormones are involved. I don't have to tell *you* that, I'm sure."

He'd saved it for after the meeting because he didn't want to appear divisive. Troi glanced at Picard, then at Riker, chewing her lower lip. "How long have you been in the patch, Will?"

"About two weeks, counting the last five days off my ship."

"How long was Dougherty here, before you arrived?"

Riker sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know. A while, I'd guess. I can't believe it would affect his judgement that drastically, even if it were a factor -- I seem to recall a certain captain acting as if nothing changed after a transporter accident turned him into a kid."

Troi's eyes went to Picard instantly. "A different situation, Will. Slow reversal verses instantaneous reversion to a pre-pubertal state -- no similarity. Not to mention the effect of the unfiltered, unfocused radiation wouldn't necessarily have the same results. It could actually be detrimental. We would need to study the planet and its atmosphere, and the properties of the rings Ro mentioned, and -- "

"Point made," Picard said. "A good point, Counselor. Perhaps there is something external having an adverse effect on the admiral's judgement -- but that would make it all the more imperative that we stop him." The captain glanced at the viewports. "And that we get clarification from Command."

Ben excused himself at that point, guessing from their demeanors that the three had things they wouldn't discuss with him in the room, and left the bridge entirely.

Regression to a pre-pubertal state? He was tempted to peek in the captain's files, but he'd told Picard he didn't do that without cause.

Ethics. Couldn't live without them, but sometimes they made things darned inconvenient.

  
\---------------

"You mean to tell me she was part of the crew?"

Guinan passed a glass of apple juice across the counter to Natalia. "Yes. And a friend of mine."

Natalia frowned at the sandwich on her plate. "But. . . .Why would she leave the *Enterprise* if she had Captain Picard giving her a second chance?"

"Sometimes people have to do what they have to do." Guinan leaned on the counter and regarded Natalia solemnly. "Sometimes you have to act on your principles, even when it goes against something else you value highly. I know she worked hard to earn the captain's respect. I know she probably hated disappointing him by defecting. But her people suffered a lot at the hands of the Cardassians. You know about that, don't you?"

"Yeah. But they could've joined the Federation." She picked up half of the cheese sandwich. "And she kept looking at Commander Troi like she couldn't believe the commander was even there -- she doesn't like her. I don't understand how anyone could *not* like the commander."

Guinan gave her one of those 'you don't know' looks she was so good at. "Would you feel differently about the captain if you hadn't known he had once been assimilated?"

An odd question given the context. It didn't seem to have anything to do with anything. "Maybe. What's that got to do -- "

"You don't know what Ro knows, Nat," Guinan murmured, leaning forward slightly. "You don't know if she sees the same thing in the captain you do. Or in Deanna."

The hostess left abruptly, gliding around the end of the bar and across Ten Forward -- to meet Captain Glendenning and the Bajoran. Glendenning stood back as Guinan greeted Ro with a smile.

Natalia ate her lunch, though her stomach didn't really want it. She really wanted to get back to the bridge but her break wasn't over.

"Hey, Greenman," Glendenning said, dropping astride the seat next to her a moment later. "How's tricks?"

Natalia managed a smile. "Okay, I guess. All things considered."

"You had a couple good observations to make earlier -- good for you for speaking up."

She felt her cheeks getting warm. "Yeah, like they weren't something you all figured out already."

"But you didn't know that, and if we hadn't thought of it, we'd have appreciated the info. You don't get far unless you stick your neck out, hon."

"Captain, you're not supposed to call me 'hon.' I thought you already had a 'hon,' anyway."

Glendenning chuckled and shook his head. "You're what my estimable grandmama would have called a 'caution.' Deanna warned me about you. The unflappable junior officer at the helm. You aren't this brazen with your own captain, I hope."

"Never. Sir."

"Going to have your own ship?"

"Someday. Right now I like where I am."

He laughed louder at that. "As if you had an option?"

"Things are only impossible until they're not."

"Mmm. . . ." He half-closed his intense blue eyes and regarded her with what appeared to be skepticism. "That sounds like you're quoting someone."

"Commander Troi. But she says Captain Picard said it first."

"Figures." He looked up then, and Natalia followed the look. Ro and Guinan had come over to stand at Natalia's left. The Bajoran eyed her skeptically.

"This is my friend, Natalia," Guinan said, emphasizing 'friend.' "Why don't you sit down, and I'll get you something to drink."

Ro took the chair next to Natalia slowly as the hostess left them. "Ro Laren. But you knew that -- you were in the meeting. Conn?"

"Yep."

"So was I."

They studied one another in mutual questioning. Glendenning quietly left his seat and wandered across the lounge, stopping near a table where some of the ops staff sat, Natalia noted out of the corner of her eye. She took another bite of sandwich.

"How long you been aboard?" Ro asked, leaning on the counter.

"Two years. Came on as a cadet." She thought about what Guinan had said -- Guinan didn't just trust anyone, the captain had told her. Guinan also never dropped hints that went nowhere. "I worked hard to get here. My dad would've loved to have been assigned to the *Enterprise* if he'd lived through Wolf. I figured it was a worthy goal to have."

Ro laughed quietly, bringing her up straight, but she realized from the twist of the Bajoran's mouth that it was an expression of irony. "Yeah. Guess it is."

Natalia finished her sandwich in silence and reached for her glass to wash it down. Ro played with a swizzle stick from a holder near a napkin dispenser not far away.

"How old were you, when he died?"

It would have stopped there, if not for Guinan looking up from taking an order at the far end of the bar and meeting Natalia's gaze. Natalia lifted her glass again, took the last swallow of juice, and put it down. "Thirteen."

"I was seven."

If she could be nosy, so could Natalia. "Cardassians?"

"Of course. Who else?" Ro bent the swizzle stick into a zigzag. After a moment of contemplation of it, she added, "They made me watch."

Natalia stared at her empty plate, counting crumbs. "You wouldn't even be talking about it if Guinan hadn't given you that subtle nudge, would you?"

"Nope."

Their eyes met. Ro's were darker brown, Natalia thought, and wider. "I should get back to the bridge."

A cynical smile. "Yeah, probably. Being late wouldn't be a good idea. The captain frowns on that."

"Yeah." Natalia slid off her chair. Glancing at Guinan, who carried a plate and beverage out onto the floor for someone, she let her eyes play across Ro's face again and tried to decide if she'd really heard the mockery in the Bajoran's last comment, or if she'd imagined it. "Sorry about your dad. I know it must've been rough -- "

"Rough? You don't know the half of it. You probably wouldn't know rough if it hit you between the eyes," Ro blurted.

Natalia bit her lip. "Yeah? You think so?"

"I know so. What a good little cadet -- piping up in the middle of the meeting with suggestions so obvious that even Troi probably thought of them while she was eating breakfast this morning -- "

"*Even* Troi? Listen, *Miss Ro,* you think the captain would've put her in the position if she weren't good enough? Considering she's following in Commander Data's footsteps, and Captain Riker's, she's probably had to work harder than most of the cadets -- and on this ship we bust our butts to get promotions! If you want to start maligning the officers on this ship, you're asking for it!"

Natalia heard her words fall into silence before she realized she'd raised her voice. And then she realized there were people coming closer, with crossed arms and disapproving glares -- she glanced around and saw that most of the clientele had left their seats. All of them stared at Ro.

"Hey, guys, this is just a discussion," she exclaimed. "Just a little debate, okay? We're fine."

"You sure about that, Nat?" one of the guys asked.

"Even if I wasn't I don't need a big oaf like you to protect me, Butterbutt." Natalia grinned at the lieutenant. Matt Buttz snorted, shook his head, and turned away, as did the others, slowly.

"Thanks for saving me from the mob," Ro said acerbically.

Natalia glared at her. "I didn't save you from anything. The captain wouldn't approve of my instigating a fight. Nice meeting you, Ro, and I really am sorry about your dad, but I hope you don't take it personally if I think your opinion of my senior officers really sucks swamp water. Have a nice life."

Guinan stared at her as Natalia left. Not meeting the hostess' eyes, Natalia dodged around some incoming customers, crossed to the door, and hit the corridor at a near-jog. Guinan could like the Bajoran if she really wanted to, but so far as Natalia could see, there wasn't much to like.


	2. Rising to the Occasion

Against change of fortune set a brave heart.

~ French Proverb ~

A man either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head-on and licks it, or he turns his back on it and starts to wither away.

~ Gene Roddenberry ~

Apparently there is nothing that cannot happen today.

~ Mark Twain ~

 

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 11

Jean-Luc and the rest of the team walked in from the beamdown point, somewhere out in the fields out of sight -- just appearing on someone's doorstep seemed rude. Ro followed close, and Mendez and Greenman came behind them.

He'd noticed some unspoken hostility between the lieutenant and Ro, mostly in the brief glares that passed between them, but knew Nat wouldn't misbehave on duty. Tom had said they'd nearly come to blows in Ten Forward; apparently Ro's opinion of Deanna hadn't changed much.

The village reminded him of Labarre in so many ways. Bright sun, though the sky was a dusky tan rather than blue. People walking about and greeting each other, all wearing simple utilitarian clothing. He noted that they appeared human, without a single feature that might distinguish them from anyone one might meet on Earth.

Children playing in the grassy fields stopped and stared at the newcomers. Ro called out, "Where can we find Anij?" and most of them ran for the buildings, shouting. The rest came closer and skipped alongside.

As they reached the outskirts of the village, a small group of adults approached, a smiling woman in the lead. She must be Anij -- she didn't look a day over forty. And this was a centuries-old woman, with a life expectancy like his? He could've looked younger, he supposed, with a lot of rejuvenating treatments and transplants and regenerations, but he preferred honesty to the artificiality.

"Ro Laren," the woman said warmly. "We had not expected to see you -- are these new friends?"

"This is Captain Picard, of the Federation," Ro said. "He'd like to talk to you about the exiles. It's important."

Anij, and most of her companions, stopped smiling. Several frowned. "What about them? Are you one of them, Captain Picard?"

"Oh, no, I'm from Earth -- we believe that the exiles Ro mentioned are trying to return here. We went to considerable trouble to avoid leading them here. It seems they attacked Ro's group without provocation, believing that they were your people."

Anij met his gaze with clear, deep brown eyes, a few wisps of her hair blowing across her face in the breeze. "You are saying that our own people wish to attack us." Her gaze moved to Ro. "What happened?"

Ro ducked her head and shifted her feet. "They saw the ship," she said quietly. "They opened fire. You said they'd been gone for a hundred years, and that the technology they wanted to embrace would cause them damage -- that they didn't care about that. They care now. I've seen them. They try to preserve themselves artificially, and it isn't working very well. I think they're blaming you for it."

"But that's -- come this way, please." She turned and led them through the village, while people came to look at the visitors. Too obviously, they rarely had offworlders come here.

They were led to a small home, into a cool dimly-lit room around an empty fire pit. Ro had said simple living was the rule. This was simple, but with cunning improvisation in places. The cabinet in a corner actually folded out into a table, with joints and hinges all of wood and functioning with impressive preciseness and noiseless operation. One of their hosts folded it away to make more room. The sun streamed through a dome in the ceiling that, upon closer inspection, proved to be open to allow air circulation but with angled panels to keep out wind and weather. Jean-Luc took a seat in the chair Anij offered, noting that a small bright-yellow creature scuttled out from under it and hid under another chair not far away. No one else seemed to notice it.

He let Ro tell her story, and added a summary of his own introduction to the Briar Patch, skirting the details of his suspicions about the admiral for the present. Most of the time their audience looked to Ro, darting glances at her even when Jean-Luc was speaking. Afterward, the five Ba'ku who had gathered to hear it looked at one another as if questioning whether their ears really heard the same account.

"You do not give us much reason to disbelieve," Anij said at last, as if conceding a point.

In the pause that gave Jean-Luc, Ro said, "The captain wouldn't lie about it. Everything he says happened. And I certainly don't have any reason to lie to you."

"This is so. However, we have trusted before and been betrayed. Coming here was our way of doing away with such difficulties -- we have everything we need here. No one would wish to live here in the Briar Patch. Communication with the rest of the galaxy is difficult, and there are so few viable planets here. Which leads to the question of why the Federation would form any liaison with the Son'a to explore this region."

"I don't know why. During the war, the Son'a provided the enemies of the Federation with resources -- to my knowledge, there is no formal treaty between the Son'a and the Federation."

"They have something Starfleet wants," Ro said, a hint of bitterness in her voice. "Or they think they can get something when they find you."

"We have nothing the Federation would want." Anij set her mouth in a firm line.

"We have nothing the Son'a would want," Sojef, a young man with curly hair, exclaimed.

"They did not leave here happy. Galna told me Ru'afo blamed us for the outcome, and that he wasn't sure Ru'afo wasn't right." The woman wiped tears from her amber eyes. "I wish we had done as they -- "

"We could not have allowed it, Di'orin," Sojef exclaimed. He paced the width of the room. "You know that. Technology is like a disease -- once allowed a place it would spread until once more we would be under its control. Enslaved to it, and helpless without it."

"Why argue the point?" another woman said with a sigh. "We've argued it before. We decided."

"What we must argue is whether there is anything to be done," Anij said. She looked at her friends, smoothing her skirt over her legs absently. "The Son'a are looking for us. Ro Laren has lost friends because we gave them our ship."

"We gave her the only means we had of escaping the Son'a, or any other offlander who might -- "

"This is our *home,* you cannot mean to suggest that we run away," Sojef blurted, glaring at Di'orin.

"You heard Laren -- people died, people the Son'a thought were us," Di'orin cried. "You cannot think they would hesitate to kill us!"

"So what do we do?" Anij said loudly. "Because no matter what we may have been able to do before, we are not able to flee our home now. Nor do we have the ability to confront anyone in space to defend ourselves."

Di'orin scooted along the edge of the fire pit and gripped Anij's arm. "Ask the captain for help. Ask him to -- "

"He is part of the Starfleet that is working with the Son'a," Sojef exclaimed.

"No guarantee he would do anything," one of the others said. "He came here to speak to us but now that he's seen how we live, who we are, he may decide we are weak and unworthy of defending."

Jean-Luc had to wonder what 'offlanders' these people had dealt with in the past. Never the Federation, he was certain. "The Federation does not discriminate. We defend our member worlds and our allies regardless of their 'weakness.'"

"Or they at least try to defend them," Ro put in -- she probably thought of all the worlds that had fallen to the Dominion, but it startled him nonetheless that she would defend the Federation at all. "Anij, if I didn't believe the captain would be willing to help, I wouldn't have brought him here. I promised I would tell no one where you are. I kept the promise until I realized that you would all be killed unless something is done. I've lost too many friends and family to senseless butchery -- I refuse to do nothing while you and your people die. The captain wouldn't let anyone, not even Starfleet, do anything to violate your rights. You have the right to live here undisturbed if that's what you want."

All eyes were on Ro by the end of her assertion; as she noticed Jean-Luc's gaze, she faltered to silence and turned back to Anij. Something was off -- Ro had hardly looked at him since beamdown. Hardly spoken to him, either.

A long silence drew itself out as the Ba'ku considered. Adding any qualifiers to Ro's statement seemed unwise. Anij sat as still as she had all along, on the edge of the pit with her hands folded in her lap, expressionless. Mendez and Greenman remained where they were standing against the wall near the door, but Jean-Luc heard one of them shifting restlessly.

"We thank you for this warning, Captain Picard," Anij said at last. Her serenity hadn't even been ruffled. "But if they are indeed our people, it is not your place to do anything."

"No, but. . . I have reason to believe there may be others who are interfering," Jean-Luc said, treading carefully. "The admiral I mentioned, Dougherty. He may not understand that these are your children. He may not have full knowledge, and the Son'a may have made promises -- "

"What promises could they make? From what you say, they do not know where we are. Are you suggesting they want what we have? What do we have -- fields full of crops, simple devices that require no great skill to operate. Ourselves and our children. What would your Federation need these things for?"

"Your planet may be what they want."

"But it is ours, not theirs. Not even the Son'a have a claim to it -- they chose their path."

"There are those who do not care who something belongs to," Ro said harshly. "My own people learned that the hard way. For some, seeing and taking is all that matters. The rights of others mean nothing -- unless the others are strong enough to defend themselves."

"You suggest that we are not." Sojef rose and paced around the room. "Perhaps, but we will not take up what we set aside long ago -- we will not kill others, regardless of the circumstance."

"What good is it to have such a noble principle if you're dead?" Ro exclaimed.

"What good is it to live without peace? Knowing that the blood of others is on your hands?" The man raked his fingers through his curly hair. "We become like them, if we take up arms. If we had only settled this conflict before they left years ago, this would not -- "

"Hold your temper, Sojef," Anij said calmly. "It is as futile to waste energy shouting."

"They'll keep looking, and when they find you, they'll kill all of you without even showing their faces," Ro exclaimed. "They'll send down those shuttles of theirs and shoot until there's no one left."

"You said that they stopped shooting when you came across the *Renton,*" Jean-Luc said. "That would imply that they know the Federation would not sanction such actions. If there is a Federation vessel in orbit, they won't fire."

"So, what, we just sit here and wait and see what happens when everyone shows up?" Ro gestured impatiently. "Wait for Dougherty to yell at you for ignoring his orders?"

Jean-Luc rose and handed his empty cup to his hostess. "One of our people has gone to ask our superiors for clarification of orders. Another has gone to meet with Dougherty. In the meantime, our ship will be in orbit, hopefully to prevent any unfortunate mishaps."

"You say you have regulations that prohibit contamination of other cultures," Sojef exclaimed. "Your presence here will only make our children question all over again, just as it did the last time offlanders came here. It was bad enough when Ro Laren and the others were here -- for you to remain here would be -- "

"Sojef," Anij interjected sternly. The two exchanged a long silent stare. She turned to Jean-Luc as she rose gracefully. "Thank you, Captain, for coming to explain to us what is taking place. But I believe minimizing exposure between our peoples would be wise."

Jean-Luc nodded and tried to reassure with a smile. "I hope you forgive me this, but if my people do attempt to invade your privacy here, I may be forced to retaliate, which may entail returning to the village. I hope that will not be the case -- I would very much prefer a peaceable solution for everyone's sake, and to respect your wishes. But I must deal with my own people, as you must deal with yours."

"I understand, Captain."

Jean-Luc turned for the door and almost stepped on the bright yellow creature he'd seen earlier. It raced at Anij, and she caught it in her hands. Handing it to Sojef, she asked him to see that his son's pet didn't get stepped on.

When the away team left the house, Anij followed them. Probably to keep an eye on them and keep them from upsetting other villagers. They strolled through the middle of the village again. He rounded a corner and found himself dodging another of the yellow creatures scurrying through the dust. "There seem to be a lot of those."

"The only creatures we brought with us. Pets, for the children. They are easy to care for, and affectionate."

There didn't seem to be six hundred people in the village, let alone the one thousand seven hundred fifty-two they'd read on sensors upon entering orbit. "Are there other villages?" he asked, turning from a study of what appeared to be a group of tapestry artists working cloth on tall frames.

"Two others. You must find us primitive, by your standards." Anij gestured at a woman carrying water in a bucket.

"Actually, this reminds me of my home village. Though you're right in that my people aren't this primitive, they are content with a much simpler lifestyle than what I've come to know on a ship." He smiled as he caught sight of what looked like a vineyard in the distance. "I own some land. I grow grapes there."

"Grapes," Anij echoed.

"Fruit. We make a beverage called wine out of them."

"I see. You are an interesting man -- a captain of a ship, and a grower of fruit." Anij smiled, her eyes meeting his briefly then veering away. "I also see that Ro trusts you. She does not trust easily. I shall have to assume that you are therefore trustworthy, hopefully more so than the other Federation. When he came here -- "

Jean-Luc stopped abruptly. "A Federation officer was already here?"

"He transported down yesterday afternoon. I assume it was one of your Federation men -- he thought because he dressed in our style of clothing that we would believe he came from another village, as he claimed to. I suppose he wouldn't know that we all know one another quite well. The other villages aren't so far away and we hold festivals at every solstice." Her eyes fixed on his, as if she hoped to get the message across more thoroughly than words could manage. "He believed we were very simple, indeed. We didn't disillusion him. He came with a recording device and tried to conceal it, but Orivane saw him adjusting it -- she has very sharp eyes. She saw that he was recording audio-visual of the village."

"But -- " Jean-Luc glanced at Ro. Anij knew Ro, obviously valued her opinion. "You should have disillusioned him."

"It might have been to your advantage," Ro added. "If the admiral thinks you're primitives he wouldn't talk to you openly as we have." At least she had correctly interpreted the look he'd given her.

"We do not suffer offlanders gladly here. We would not be rude to them, but Sojef is correct -- we have already lost some of our children due to the influence of offlanders. We do not wish to lose any more to senseless conflict. Your admiral must be nearby still -- please talk to him and convince your Federation we do not wish to be disturbed. You must take all your officers and leave."

"I'll do my best to do so, Anij. But, I reassure you, we wouldn't do anything to coerce any of your children, or share any -- "

"That does not matter." Her eyes intense, she took a step forward. "You must leave. Don't worry about us. The Son'a will not harm us, regardless of Di'orin's assumptions."

"How can you know -- "

"I know." Anij glanced about, looking at the ground, then behind them. "Captain, I know that we will be safe. You must not return. You must force your admiral to remove all your officers from the Briar Patch," she murmured. "It is for your own safety."

He exchanged a long, serious stare with her, trying to understand this insistence. "I'll do my best to have our officers gone from here as quickly as possible. Thank you for your hospitality, and for hearing me out. Picard to *Enterprise* -- four to beam up."

The moment the beam let go, he leaped off the pad and hit his badge again. "Picard to bridge! Is there any sign of any other ship in the area?"

"No, sir, and we've been running scans continuously."

"Keep doing that. Where is Commander Troi?" Even as he asked, he searched through the bond. There, but distant.

"She went to sickbay with a bad case of indigestion."

"Ward, senior staff, in the briefing room in half an hour. Picard out." He turned to Ro. "You're certain you never heard a word about another ship?"

"No. Just the *Renton* and *Lexington.*"

"This gets worse all the time," Jean-Luc grumbled. "The Son'a would be here if Dougherty had been forthcoming with information -- it would appear there are lies going both ways. I doubt, from the way you've described them, that the Son'a would be mistaken for a Ba'ku?"

"If not Son'a, then Federation?" Natalia put in. Ro shot her a glare, quickly, turning away as soon as she'd done it.

"No Son'a would be able to pass for human -- they might have once, since the Ba'ku look human, but they don't any more. And being that subtle isn't like them. They wouldn't send someone down first to see what's going on -- that would imply they'd learned something from the last time they killed an entire community of people." Ro kept her voice even and emotionless.

"Do they have the technology to masquerade as another species, however temporarily?"

Ro chewed her upper lip briefly. "I don't know. They seem to have the same basic technology as the Federation -- they have transporters. I don't think they're as advanced in medical technology. Either that or the way they live defies any medical procedure we could use to counteract the damage to their bodies."

"Thank you, Ro, for being willing to help me with this."

Hearing the dismissal implicit in it, Ro nodded and left the transporter room stiffly. When she was gone, Jean-Luc turned to Mendez. The science officer removed the tricorder from his shirt, where it had remained out of sight, and checked it. The readings would be of the most general kind, the tricorder running a broad analysis of anything within half a kilometer of their position, but everything they could learn about the planet would hopefully help them understand what the Federation's interest in this place might be.

"Got the full cycle -- biosignatures, atmospheric, and an analysis of the soil and plant life. I'll take this to sciences and run analyses of it, and have a preliminary report to you by the beginning of the meeting."

"Excellent. I expect you to attend the meeting as well." He strode from the room with Mendez and Nat hard on his heels. "What about you, Natalia?"

"Didn't see anything unusual about the people themselves, or the buildings. Curious that there were boot prints in the dirt, though. Looked like standard issue. Several sizes."

He waited until they were in the lift, on the way to the bridge, to look at her. It helped him do away with the shock. "Not ours?"

"Nope. While we were approaching down that lane, and those kids were running around, I paid attention to their shoes for comparison and watched the ground around us. There were four sets of boot prints along the edge, half in the grass, pointing out while we were going in. One set was being made while we were walking in."

"Was being. . . camouflage suits," Jean-Luc muttered. The suits had been a recent addition to ships of the line, to facilitate observation of pre-warp cultures. He doubted the Son'a would have them, but at this point there were so many unknowns he didn't want to rule it out.

"That was my thought," Natalia continued. "I considered saying something at the time but didn't know if they were armed -- there were too many kids right there. I hope I did the right thing."

"You did fine, Natalia. We may yet avoid a confrontation if this is but a misunderstanding. This means two things," he mused aloud. "Someone knows we are here, and they are observing the Ba'ku as if they were a more primitive culture -- or are they simply being surreptitious for the sake of secrecy?"

"Where is the ship?" Mendez asked. "On the planet? Did someone go down in a shuttle? Is this the mythical *Mirage* at work?"

"That's what we're going to find out."

Mendez departed on deck ten, bound for the labs. Natalia remained in the lift, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, as he ordered it to deck twelve.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked after they rode in silence for a moment.

"I don't trust her. Ro, I mean."

He eyed the lieutenant. "And?"

Natalia pursed her lips and stared at him, eyes wide and uncertain.

"You think I am making a mistake in soliciting her help."

"I don't know her. You worked with her, before she joined the Maquis. You know her better."

"But you still think I'm making a mistake. A gut feeling?"

She nodded at last, just once.

"Computer, hold turbolift." The car stopped smoothly. Jean-Luc put his hands behind his back and studied his helm officer. Like Wesley, she'd been promoted ahead of schedule, though not as drastically -- he still wondered if living up to the early promotion had been partly responsible for the boy's pushing himself to an early burnout. Like Ro, Nat showed plenty of promise -- independent thought and an underlying determination.

With the upswing in the numbers of cadets taking their training tour aboard the *Enterprise* thanks to the effort to replenish the much-diminished Starfleet pool of personnel, Deanna had recognized some changes in cadet motivations -- the focus had shifted in the aftermath of the war, with the public perception of Starfleet as a military organization. Young people were joining out of intent to follow in the footsteps of deceased parents, some of them in hopes of avenging them. Natalia was one of them. She had mixed motives, but her father's career being curtailed by the Borg had played its part. He wondered what she must be making of all this -- especially her perception of the admiral's behavior.

"You want to question what I'm doing," he said at last, when she wouldn't speak even to question his stopping the lift.

"It isn't my place to demand explanations, sir."

"Should I do that where Admiral Dougherty is concerned, or do you think I shouldn't ask why he abandoned two dozen people to take their chances in space?"

"I -- " She snapped her mouth shut again. It didn't take long for her to hear what he said. "The admiral is acting suspiciously. She's not, but she's former Maquis. There are warrants for her arrest. She deserted her post, failed to complete her mission, in fact sabotaged it."

The computer would have listed the warrant. Obviously, she'd checked. He thought about what Tom had told him, prior to the *Venture*'s departure. "You dislike her attitude toward your first officer."

Natalia's double-take lasted all of a second. "She thinks the commander isn't suited to her post. It doesn't matter to her that you think so, or anyone else."

"Deanna wasn't fit for the position until she decided to make herself fit. Ro did not see the hours of work Deanna put into attaining her goal. Ro remembers her as she was some years before."

"That's no reason to be so hostile about it," Natalia exclaimed.

That brought Jean-Luc's head up. "Hostile?"

"Yeah, she acted like I was stupid -- said the suggestions I made in the meeting were stuff even the commander could come up with, and. . . ." She blushed and looked at the floor. "I'm sorry. I lost my temper and snapped at her in Ten Forward."

"I know."

It only made her more embarrassed -- she turned away from him slightly.

"Nat, when Ro defected and joined the Maquis. . . ." He paused, seeking the right words. "She was on a classified mission at the time. During a contact I made with her, she expressed doubt, but I didn't hear what she said. I only heard the words. I told her to do her duty as an officer. It took me a long time to realize that if I had given her reassurance instead of a call to duty, she may have stayed in Starfleet. I didn't realize that she may not have found her footing as an officer, that she may have been voicing her concerns and expressing some internal conflict between her personal ethics and her duty, and I failed to address that adequately."

Natalia backed against the wall and brought her eyes up again, full of questions now. Still red-faced, but doing better.

"In the current situation, Ro held out until I arrived to divulge the entire story of the Ba'ku and the Son'a because I was someone she trusted. She worked with me long enough to know that in a clash of ethics and orders, I make decisions favoring ethics and the spirit of the law rather than the letter. She had no such knowledge of Tom. Even the presence of Beverly and Data wasn't enough to turn her in his favor. As you saw during our meeting with Anij, the Ba'ku trust her. At this time, her motivation is to protect the Ba'ku -- all she has to look forward to with the Federation is a prison term. She doesn't care. She appealed to me from the first -- Tom said that when he found her shuttle, she was trying to send a message that would get to me. She's sacrificing herself to save them. If she has to spend time on our ship awaiting trial, she may as well help us in this, rather than sit in the brig."

"I guess I can see that. I still don't understand why she doesn't like the commander, though."

"Her low estimation of Deanna's abilities carries over from bad experiences she had with Deanna in command and being at odds with her over a course of action. Unlike you, Ro was not shy about voicing a difference of opinion with her commanding officer. And at the time Deanna was unsure of her ability to command." He thought of an analogous hypothetical situation quickly enough. "Think about the accident you were in with Batris, in the plasma conduit -- even though he acted properly and showed courage in the face of death, if I had promoted him to first officer because of his actions, what would you have thought of me? Ro probably feels the same about Deanna's career change."

"Oh," Natalia blurted. "Yeah. But it's been years, why wouldn't she assume Deanna's changed since then?"

"How many years does it normally take a counselor to become a first officer?"

"Um. . . . Okay." Natalia rolled her eyes. "Right. No such thing as normal aboard the *Enterprise,* as per the handbook."

The retreat to their old in-joke reassured him. "Absolutely."

"So, sometimes there's a line somewhere between loyalty to Starfleet and loyalty to ethics. You want me to ignore Ro's antagonistic behavior, which I knew already. You want to give her the chance to help us out -- because she's pretty much all we have in the way of information on the Ba'ku, and by association the Son'a." Natalia tilted her head, thinking. "You're giving her a second chance because you feel guilty about maybe pushing her into the Maquis?"

That hadn't been why he'd told her the story. He wanted her to recognize that motivations were easy to misinterpret. But unlike Beverly's outright scold, the question coming from Natalia failed to anger him. Instead, catching him off guard that way, it made him see it from her perspective and wonder how it was he hadn't seen the guilt himself. Perhaps guilt wasn't motivating him to enlist Ro's help, but there might be something to it.

He stifled amusement at himself for even thinking that way. Dee's fault that he even wondered about it -- self-analysis had too many pitfalls.

"I am asking for her help because we have a similar motivation. Neither one of us wishes to see the Ba'ku harmed. My feelings have nothing to do with my duty. I could, for example, order you to stop being so damned perceptive, but I wouldn't do that to you as it crosses a boundary between professional and personal. Understand?"

Her wavering smile solidified. "Yes, sir."

"You could at least pretend I'm an infallible senior officer, you know."

"Of course you are. I don't know what you mean by 'pretend,' sir."

"And you aren't grinning like an imp, either, I suppose?" He glanced at the frozen display. "Computer, resume."

"No, sir, no impish grinning, sir. No personal perceptiveness, either."

"As long as that's clear."

"Yes, sir."

The doors opened on deck twelve. He left her in the lift and heard her request deck seven as the door closed behind him. Her quarters were there; she'd ridden with him to twelve on purpose, to talk to him. Sniffing, he strode to sickbay, where the doors opened before he came within range. Deanna met him in the corridor.

"I'm fine," she murmured, taking his hand briefly. "You've been talking to Nat again. And what revelation did that bring you?"

"Damned empath," he muttered. "We have a staff meeting shortly. We can discuss revelations and Nat later. Are you sure you wouldn't rather go on maternity leave earlier than planned?" He asked the question as he studied the tired lines in her face and the way she held a hand to the small of her back. Her eyes returned small reflections of his face as they studied him.

"Is that something motivated out of concern for your first officer, or for your wife?"

"I would have asked the same of. . . . Though I suppose Data wouldn't have -- or Will for that matter. But if one of them *had* been pregnant -- "

"Never mind. Yes, I'm sure I wouldn't rather go on leave. Let's go to the briefing room, where you can update me on what happened with Ro."

"Among other things, Natalia almost came to blows with her in Ten Forward when she suggested you were less than adequate to your job. Nat doesn't trust her."

"If I couldn't sense her intent, I wouldn't either. Or I wouldn't *feel* like trusting her. Circumstances dictate otherwise at the moment."

Almost sour, that reply. Jean-Luc turned to walk beside her toward the turbolift, resisting the urge to put a hand on her back by folding them behind his own back. "Because she was Maquis?"

"I suppose it may be a difference of personality, more than anything else -- it may also be because of what happened. . . ." The way her eyes darted away reminded him of a nervous Natalia. "You said aspects of this situation reminded you of when the Sutturan took control of our ship and made us believe the Federation was at war with the Lysians. I had thought of that occasion when Ro first came over from *Venture,* for quite different reasons."

"Are you suggesting that something happened then that explains Ro's attitude toward you?"

Deanna preceded him into the lift and knitted her hands over Yves. She set them in motion for the bridge with a command as the doors closed. "Let's just say we had a brief alliance shortly after we regained our memories, and that it degenerated later into an uneasiness."

Jean-Luc winced. "This isn't an elephant, is it?"

"Not for me. There were interesting relationships forming during that short time our knowledge of self was stripped from us -- as we began finding clues of personal lives, there were assumptions made and actions taken that resulted in discomfort once the truth was revealed."

"If it's not an elephant for you then why are you beating so far around the bush?"

"Because it isn't my place to go into details. A certain officer wouldn't appreciate it."

"Merde," he muttered under his breath. "Has to be Will."

"Does it?"

"I remember some curious facial expressions and non-verbal signals being sent between several people. Didn't stop to analyze it at the time, and it didn't seem fitting to dwell on it afterward. Things seemed to return to normal quickly enough. I thought Ro's discomfort with you went as far back as our encounter with the quantum filament."

"That was a bad start for us," Deanna said with a sigh. "But remember, Ro was in prison. Being rehabilitated includes counseling, and she was a particularly-difficult case for the psychiatric staff. Her opinion of me was colored by that from the outset. You came to view sessions with a counselor as just another means of self-examination; she isn't of a nature that lends itself to guided introspection. It feels too much like intrusion to her. I have the feeling that she would have had very little to do with me, if she had her way. You're startled to hear this."

He laughed quietly, sidling closer as the lift changed direction, probably rerouting around another car. "Maybe that's my bias showing through, that I can't imagine someone not liking you?"

"Ro may have more difficulty adjusting to my career change than some others who've had trouble seeing it." She opened her eyes at last, to reveal her troubled expression. "I think it may have altered her perception of you more than of me. For the worse."

"You're being paranoid again. Plus, I don't care about her perception of me. She isn't my crew, nor is she -- "

"You should care. She's a factor in this mission. If you're the only person aboard she trusts, you can't afford to lose that trust." As the lift halted, he felt Deanna's hand brush his arm, the touch accompanied by the mental equivalent. His heightened awareness of such contact had increased over the past months.

"I think we're all too aware of what may happen," she murmured. "There's a lot of tension among the crew. Uncertainty about the admiral's behavior, and about the condition of the shuttles. And whether the damage was done by Starfleet vessels or alien ships. It's one thing to be in danger, but quite another to be confronted by the possibility of friends becoming foes without apparent reason or warning."

They traversed the bridge without speaking, nodding to Ward, and entered the briefing room. Jean-Luc sat down at once, Deanna taking the chair at his right hand and folding her hands on the table.

"I suppose the Son'a's role in the war is also common knowledge," he said.

"It's not privileged information."

"Deanna. . . ."

He found himself staring at his hands. Old hands, that had done so much, and served him so well. It was too difficult to breathe, suddenly. Then her hand appeared over both of his, slender fingers and manicured nails contrasting with his larger ones. Her wedding ring felt cold against his thumb.

"Our reaction to this situation determines the mood of the crew," she said, voice low. "We have been reacting too obviously to this -- letting it affect our demeanor. They've become very sensitive to us." She ran her knuckles down his cheek. "There's so much that makes it difficult -- you've been anticipating Yves, and I've been anticipating a few months of nothing but motherhood and being a wife. I was even thinking about going on leave sooner, as you suggested, until the distress call came in. We've worked to prepare for a family and this crisis demands that we set it aside for a while. So we must do that."

"Am I losing my touch, Dee? Is it time to move out of the way and let someone else have the ship?"

She hesitated too long. He raised his gaze at last and found her eyes questioning him in return. "You haven't asked that kind of question in a long time."

"I haven't felt this conflicted in a long time. It used to be so simple -- we were explorers, good Samaritans when necessary, diplomats when called upon, and infrequently defended ourselves."

"And somewhere along the way it became complicated," she added. "As you paid more attention to things that have always been there -- the politicking, the public opinion and how that affects enrollment in the Academy, the change in attitude in the incoming cadets. Things outside Starfleet that influence what goes on within it. The conflict with the Dominion highlighted a lot of weak points in the hierarchy of Starfleet. Would I be correct in assuming your refusal of admiral's bars is due in part to your awareness that admirals have often made decisions you perceive as compromises of ethics?"

For a small eternity he couldn't answer. She waited patiently, holding him with her eyes, her hand on his sleeve.

"I don't want to lose this," he whispered at last. "You, the ship, my faith in myself, or my faith in the Federation and all it stands for. I want what I joined Starfleet to find. I want to explore."

"Does it anger you, that Starfleet let so many civilians along the DMZ die?"

She knew it had. She knew, better than anyone else currently aboard, despite the fact that he'd not discussed it openly with anyone. And though she'd never said much herself, he knew that silence did not mean ignorance, simply that she knew when to speak and when to be silent. All of them had done things in the war that none of them really wanted to do, in the name of peace.

"Since we found Will, I've been thinking about Ben Maxwell. About others, like Admiral Kennelly -- ignorance of the truth kills people in situations like these, Deanna. We need to find the truth. You say Ro is telling the truth, but she knows what she knows mostly second-hand. I wish I had sent you down to speak with Anij and the others."

"Dr. Mengis would override that. After hearing Ro's account at the staff meeting, he collared me on the way out and informed me that until more was known about the effects of this metaphasic radiation, I was to stay on the ship where I'm shielded from it." She frowned slightly. "I wonder if he thinks I'm really going to be that careless with Yves."

"He's concerned. I think we all are -- Ward's remarked that the crew at large seems to think Yves is a community project." Resorting to amusement at that kept him from giving away the belief that Mengis was probably reacting to Deanna's insistence that she could continue working until the birth. The doctor had his own opinions about the wisdom of her decision.

"You could invite Anij up to see the ship."

"I hadn't thought of that -- but in any case, they only spoke to me because of Ro. I don't know that they'd trust me that far." He scratched the back of his neck, which had suddenly begun to itch ferociously. "And we can't rely entirely on your sense of people. There has to be something tangible before we can act on it."

"I was only thinking my perception might be of some use as a guide to something tangible, if we knew. . . ." Her eyes grew distant, then refocused. "I think the counselor from the *Lexington* will die, too. He hasn't awakened. Dr. Mengis tends to say little when he thinks the prognosis is grim."

"This is too much to bear. What could possibly justify the senseless deaths of officers?" he whispered, looking out at the gleaming rings of the planet rising vertically, from their perspective. "Not that. It can't be simply that. If it is, if we've fallen to this, to sacrificing our own and allying ourselves with people like the Son'a to achieve. . . what? Longer life spans? Regenerative properties? We already have technological advancements in those areas. This isn't making sense to me."

Deanna gripped his arm. "One decision at a time, Jean-Fish. One moment at a time. We'll find out what's going on."

He nodded, looking at the table to avoid her eyes.

"I don't want to find out Starfleet and the Federation Council are sanctioning this, either, Jean-Luc. Nor do I like the thought that after all our efforts to preserve the Federation, this might become a harbinger of things to come, the beginning of the end. But the crisis is now -- we surmount it and move on, or we turn away down a different path. You want to move forward. So be it. I'll be here with you. I have faith in you."

He sniffed derisively. "I'd hate to think of what Command would think if they heard me talking to you this way. I'm supposed to set an example, after all."

"You've had moments of dismayed questioning before, in the middle of a crisis. You just never voiced them."

"I never had someone I felt comfortable voicing them to -- and I don't see much point in denying it, since you can tell anyway."

The doors opened behind them, the voices of Carlisle and Mendez preceding the officers. Deanna looked up, removing her hand from her husband's arm, and the first officer greeted the rest of the senior staff as they filed into the briefing room.

~^~^~^~^~

 

"Curiouser and curiouser," Deanna said around a mouthful of toast as Mendez finished his report. She finished her snack and reached for her glass of water. Since she couldn't eat much at one sitting, she tended to 'graze,' as Ward put it.

Ben suppressed a smile, hopefully not as poorly as Carlisle did. The captain paused in his restless pacing around the table. Picard had shown unusual energy since the beginning of the long dissertation on the details of the planet as interpreted by a tricorder. It'd begun with slow pacing, and gradually progressed from there as he questioned Mendez. At the moment he seemed almost unable to stand still. The senior officers had long since ceased trying to follow his movements. No sense in twisting their necks like spectators watching velocity.

"Geordi, do you think," he began, the forming thoughts slow to emerge, "that we could isolate whatever frequencies at which the camouflage suits are operating and somehow negate them?"

"And if they are here on legitimate -- " Deanna began, but again, he interrupted.

"What could be legitimate about this?" The comment hadn't been that unusual; previously Picard had given the benefit of the doubt and said similar things. "The Ba'ku came here to be left alone. If those were Starfleet personnel and they knew we were in the village, why haven't they made themselves known? If observing the prime directive was their only concern, they should have turned off their suits and confronted us! They should have used communicators, beamed us away, anything but remain undetected! Unless they know the Ba'ku are warp-capable, on a par technologically with the Federation, and that the prime directive doesn't apply -- but then it becomes more reprehensible yet. Spying on them? To what end?"

"No one is debating that, but the possibility is still there -- you've mentioned once before that there is one instance in which the prime directive is actually secondary," Deanna said, causing raised eyebrows all around. Ben thought she might be referring to the omega incident, still a mystery and occasional cause for conjecture.

"This is *not* that sort of instance. This is a planet inhabited by people who came here to be left alone, whose civil affairs should be none of our business, and there are Starfleet personnel -- "

"If they are Starfleet," Mendez put in again. "Though there's nothing in the computer that would indicate the Son'a have the new camouflage technology, that doesn't mean they can't have stolen it. The *Renton* has yet to put in an appearance. If the Bajoran's story was correct and the *Renton* was damaged by sabotage so she and her group could escape it, the Son'a may have come along and finished the job -- taken over the ship."

"Which would make it even more imperative to find out who the devil is sneaking around down there!" The ringing exclamation startled Carlisle; the second officer jumped slightly. Deanna only gazed at her captain with slightly-wider eyes. Ben had heard the two going at each other this way before, but something was afoot. Normally, the captain never raised his voice that much. Because he didn't like being spied on, perhaps? It occurred to Ben that the hunch he'd expressed earlier about metaphasic radiation having an effect on them might have merit. He glanced at Mendez, then at Greenman. Neither had shown much change -- Greenman was as quiet as she'd been since the unfinished poker game, and Ray Mendez showed no hint of abnormal behavior.

"B'rithan to Captain Picard," came the page from the officer relieving deLio. "We have an incoming transmission from the *Venture.* Audio only."

"Put it through, thank you." Picard could sound calm when he wanted to. The distraction seemed to ground him.

Those communications buoys Troi had suggested had paid off. Ben was surprised at the static -- one never heard static over subspace, normally -- but Glendenning's voice was plainly audible. "Captain Picard."

"Tom -- did you make the rendezvous?"

"Yes, indeed, and promptly received a reprimand for my tardiness, then orders to proceed to the Ba'ku planet -- along with the coordinates. Funny, I didn't realize the planet's location was common knowledge. Here I thought *Lexington* was performing a search pattern to actually find the place."

"As it turns out we have some clandestine observers wearing those new camouflage suits -- I beamed down to talk to the Ba'ku and the lieutenant noticed standard issue boot prints. I would guess that other ship is named *Mirage* for a reason -- it's got to be running cloaked. We're scanning for it, but there's a lot of interference."

A few pops and squeals. "What about Riker?"

"Haven't heard from him yet. He isn't due back for another eight hours, best case scenario."

"I'm supposed to enter standard orbit and wait for the *Lexington* to make contact. I asked why, and got the same thing Will did -- just follow orders. So we'll be there in about six hours. I hope you sent the poor guy in a well-armed shuttle, I've seen two Son'a ships so far. I'd guess Dougherty's got them all chasing wild hares in his section of the patch to keep an eye on them. If your friend's story is correct, they'd open fire on the Ba'ku, and we *are* still talking about Federation staff -- clandestine observation means they're assessing the situation, at least."

"But to what end? They know we were there. If the prime directive were the concern, they would have objected to our presence!"

"Hey, easy, I'm on your side -- Mr. Dougherty didn't even bother to let me have a look at his face on a view screen. We came in range, contacted them, got the orders, and were told to bug off."

Ben smiled at that. He'd noticed Glendenning's speech was often laced with archaic colloquialisms. Some families seemed to perpetuate them on purpose, which was how they survived from one generation to the next.

"With no mention of the Son'a or the *Mirage*?"

"Oh, he mentioned those. Said the *Mirage* would be around, that the Son'a were helping with a joint effort on something that would benefit both the Federation and the Son'a. Don't know about that 'Son'a helping' thing, but they have this really *big* umbrella."

"Umbrella?" Troi looked up at the captain, who seemed as mystified as she.

"Looks like one. Only it's around 6,000 meters long, or so, and the Son'a are towing it along with them, with help from the *Lexington.* Didn't get much of a chance to check it out. Data says from what little passive scanning we were able to do on the way past, it looks like some sort of collector."

"The metaphasic radiation," the captain said at once. "They must be intending to collect the energy it creates in the rings of the planet. Harvest it, for regenerating themselves -- is that why the Federation finds this place so interesting? Are the Son'a buying the right to carry out this operation in Federation space with a share of the collected energy?"

"Anything else on the planet worth harvesting?" Tom asked. "Piles of dilithium sitting around, or massive latinum deposits? Maybe a secret starship building facility or an anti-Borg superweapon?"

"Kelbonite interferes with any sensor surveys of the mountains, but the areas we can study show no signs of anything we couldn't find on other planets elsewhere," Mendez said.

"Adds up about the way you see it, doesn't it, Jean-Luc?" Tom said.

The captain laughed bitterly and paced the length of the table yet again. "People have been searching for the fountain of youth for centuries, Tom. It's nothing new." He came around and put a hand on the back of his chair. "The Son'a have this collector but the Federation has the resource it's designed to collect, technically, as it's in our space -- so why can't we duplicate the collector? And how do we even know it will work? They can't have tested it -- this is a unique environment, obviously, and the Son'a don't appear to know where the planet is. It still doesn't sit right that a Starfleet admiral would have anything to do with this. And most bothersome of all -- it doesn't appear that anyone's bothered to ask the Ba'ku for their permission."

"Let me know when Riker comes back with the word from Command. Should be interesting. See you in six hours. Glendenning out."

"I'd like more time to further analyze what the sensors are making of it," Mendez said. "If we could move the ship into an orbit that intersects the rings -- "

"You said standard shields wouldn't block more intense levels of the radiation. Until we know more about its effect on non-Ba'ku, I'd prefer to remain in a wide elliptical polar orbit." The captain paced again, passing behind Ben's chair.

Mengis cleared his throat. "To this point I've noticed no ill effects among the crew. The members of the away team, however, appear to be experiencing some changes. I'd like to see you in sickbay, Captain."

It stopped Picard in his tracks behind an empty chair two places from Ben. "What kind of changes? There's no indication of anything harmful on the surface, and the atmosphere filters the metaphasic radiation to harmless levels, according to the readings we took."

"Lieutenant-Commander Mendez came into sickbay just before the meeting and complained of slight twinges in his side. As it turns out, some internal scar tissue where he had once had a broken rib perforate his lung spontaneously regenerated itself. Lung tissue is one of the most difficult tissue types to regenerate; we normally have to clone a new lung when the damage is extensive. Mr. Mendez shows no trace of ever having an injury. I'd also like to see Lieutenant Greenman, but I'm particularly interested in studying the effect the radiation has had on you, Captain."

Ben remembered the captain's service record well enough to guess how many old injuries he'd probably had. Picard stared at the doctor, then acquiesced without further ado and dismissed them. He left the room at a running walk.

No one moved from their seats. LaForge, Mengis and Carlisle all turned to Deanna as if expecting an explanation; she wore a thoughtful expression and didn't appear to notice the scrutiny.

"He seems different," Carlisle said at last.

"I'd like another visit to the surface," Mendez said. "Not to the Ba'ku -- I'd like samples of the flora and fauna."

"We should do it now -- we won't have much of a chance if another ship shows up. Take Ward with you," Deanna said. "And someone from sickbay to monitor you, and a security team. Geordi, if you can help them with some way of detecting camouflage suits in operation? deLio, keep us on top of the readings from the sensor grid we've established between the *Venture* and the *Enterprise* -- let us know the instant another ship comes into range of the buoys. The astrometrics staff can handle the scans of the system -- I'd like to see some results on the possibility of a top velocity increase, too, Geordi. I'm going to see why the captain is upset." She glanced around the table and struggled upright from the chair. Ben, and probably everyone else at the table, had the urge to go help her up, but that would only get them a glare.

After she'd gone, Carlisle looked at Ben. "It's really got both of them stressed out not knowing what's going on."

"It's got everyone stressed, Ward," Ben said. "All you have to do is walk around the ship to know that. I've had people in and out of my office for the past few days. All of them are afraid Starfleet has gone tyrannical -- some are afraid this means we're about to be involved in another war."

"We'd better get to work," Mendez said.

It broke up the meeting. Ben noticed Greenman was the first out and already gone when the rest of them emerged on the main bridge. Ben made sure he tailed along behind LaForge, and managed to get in a lift with the engineer and Dr. Mengis.

"The away team was influenced by the radiation that quickly? The way Ro described it, age reversal takes years," Ben asked, looking his superior in the eye.

"Complete physical reversal would, no doubt. You must remember too that the Ba'ku are not human. Different physiology, different reaction."

"You're probably also curious about the captain's heart," Geordi murmured.

Mengis' hard green eyes slid from Ben's face to Geordi's. "You know about that."

"His old senior staff from the D knows. He doesn't like talking about it, but it's caused him problems at least twice that I'm aware of. It's probably why he's upset. Talking about healing old internal injuries must've reminded him of it." Geordi looked at the floor, then up at the doctor again. "D'you think my eyes. . . ."

"It's possible. Would you want them to regenerate, however? You've commented before that the implants give you a broader perceptible spectrum and that it's an advantage in your work."

"I'll have to think about that."

Mengis left the lift on deck twelve. When Ben stayed inside with Geordi, the engineer raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Have you ever been in a situation like this before, when the waiting was all you could do and the answers were few and far between?" Ben asked.

Geordi smiled wryly. "Yeah. You came aboard during the war -- it's been a long time since we've had a serious mystery to unravel. Mapping missions and diplomatic stuff don't quite prepare you for a real brain-busting scenario like this."

"The captain has an artificial heart?"

"He doesn't like people knowing about that." The implants focused visibly, irising until the pupils were pinpoints. "Too personal."

"Not like a lot of people don't have artificial organs, these days. Or cloned ones. They couldn't clone a new heart for him?"

"I think it was replaced before that practice became common. There was a lot of ethical debating going on about cloning, remember. Took a long time to get the Eugenics Wars out of our systems."

"I suppose so. But he could've had it done since it became more commonplace."

"Guess he doesn't want to. See you around, Counselor." LaForge departed for engineering, leaving Ben to wonder why LaForge hadn't replaced his implants with cloned eyes. Sagging against the wall of the lift, he began to think of the personal ramifications of the planet below.

If the radiation could prolong life the way Ro said, if it could heal old wounds this way, if it could rejuvenate people who simply lived there -- yes, there could be a problem if everyone in the quadrant knew about this place.

The ethics of this might be as complicated as the endless debates about cloning. Who would have the right to come reap the benefits of this place? Then there was the Ba'ku, whose planet it was -- except the Son'a would appear to have an idea of how to take care of that problem.

While the lift traveled to some destination to pick up someone else, Ben listed the known facts.

The Son'a and Ba'ku were, according to Ro, the same people. The Federation was cooperating with the Son'a, with or without knowledge of the Son'a's hostile intentions, and keeping the operation a secret. The admiral might have just cause for keeping unauthorized ships out of the area. If there were still more secrets out in the Briar Patch with similar properties, he may even have reason for enforcing his orders the way he had.

Captain Picard had disobeyed orders and returned, along with the abandoned officers, to find out what was going on.

This was going to be tense until Riker got back -- and depending on the news he brought with him, it might get even more tense. Ben knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate on that review. When the lift finally opened on deck twelve again, he traded places with a couple of ensigns and headed for his office. There had to be something he could do to keep his mind off the ramifications of this.

~^~^~^~^~

 

Ro watched the corridor until it was clear before venturing around the corner. Keeping her pace at a practiced nonchalant walk, she made it down to the transporter room unseen.

No one in the room, and the door opened readily. She studied the console without touching it for a while. Different, but not so different.

"Computer, what kind of lockdown is currently in use in transporter room four?"

The ready response was encouraging. "Standard lockdown protocol in operation."

If she asked about the protocol itself the computer might sound an alarm. Then again, life was full of uncertainty, and she wouldn't have too many chances. The longer she dawdled, the more likely it was that she would be stuck with following along helplessly while Picard tried to decipher the ethics of the situation.

Why couldn't he see what was going on? The admiral was up to something, the Son'a were trouble, and the Ba'ku weren't going to do anything -- someone had to protect them. The only truly peaceful people she'd ever met would be extinct if something didn't happen soon.

She thought about going to talk to him. Deanna would be around, though -- the thought made Ro angry. Of all people to become first officer! She could see Geordi in the position sooner than the counselor. Picard must've gone soft. That's what it was. Marrying Deanna and promoting her to first officer were proof enough. He'd lost his dedication to duty bestowed by that solid sense of ethics that she'd counted on.

The whole command structure of Starfleet must be breaking down. Picard married to his first officer, an admiral tossing subordinates into space for questioning orders -- the Federation was going mad.

The only thing Ro was certain about was that her friends the Ba'ku needed her help. Desa, Gary and Sarah were giving her the silent treatment now. The move to the *Enterprise* hadn't gone over well, especially with Gary. Picard had barely given them a look, said a few words to them, and gone his way, leaving his first officer -- ha! -- and the security chief to deal with them. As usual, Deanna's sweet politeness chafed like shuttle seats against bare skin. She'd shown them to quarters, three cabins along the same hall, and left them there; Desa had gone in one, Gary and Sarah in another, and none had said a word to Ro. It was her fault they were in custody, and they didn't give her benefit of the doubt any longer. From one starship to another, with a captain less benevolent than the last. Glendenning hadn't put security in the corridor. The *Enterprise* officers didn't restrict their movements, but there was always one outside their quarters. It made things worse that Ro was the only one they didn't follow around.

The last thing she'd done before coming to the transporter room had been to go to her three companions and give them the option to join her. The silent looks, even from Desa, told her no. Desa's coldness hurt.

They were right. Coming to Starfleet had been a mistake. She shouldn't have expected Picard to stay the same -- everyone changed over time, and the war took a lot out of everyone. Herself included.

Bajor was a Federation member now, and as such would hand her over to Starfleet for more fun in prison. The Maquis were all gone now except the three who now viewed her as a traitor. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to.

"Computer, notify me if anyone comes within fifteen meters of the door to this room." What that would accomplish she wasn't certain. It just made her feel better. This probably wasn't going to work, but she'd try.

Nowhere to go but down, to do what she could for the Ba'ku.

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 12

"Captain."

Jean-Luc kept his hands on either side of the viewport, leaning heavily, trying to compose himself. The heaviness in his chest wouldn't go away. When Deanna's hand brushed his shoulder, he realized at last how concerned she'd become -- it finally pierced the tumult of emotion he battled. She'd been trying to reach him through the bond, since her repeated verbal summons hadn't been working, and his preoccupation with thoughts of what Mengis had said had built a wall she couldn't break through.

"I'm sorry," he rasped. "It's difficult to comprehend this. I felt. . . fine. I was fine. And just now, I realized what I was doing, what I said -- what has going down there done to me?"

"It hasn't done anything to you, other than stimulate certain parts of your physiology. Come to sickbay, Captain." When he didn't move, she tugged his arm. "Don't be afraid, Jean-Luc. You have to find out, you know."

"It's not what you think. What if this place could actually make me physically younger?" He turned at last and met her eyes. "That was my first thought. The second was, what if everyone with defects our technology cannot yet heal could come here? The third was of the aged and weak -- but the planet isn't big enough for everyone. The Ba'ku are defenseless, Deanna. Utterly defenseless. And if you handed them weapons they wouldn't fight. What the hell is Dougherty up to? We don't dare leave until we know."

"Sickbay. Now."

"Deanna -- "

"You made me finish the meeting because you ran out without giving orders. We have an away team taking samples, we have astrometrics doing scans of the system, and we need for you and Natalia to go to sickbay." Her tone had a quiet, deadly seriousness that got through at last. This wasn't personal concern, or it wasn't *only* personal concern -- this was an officer telling the captain to do something. One who knew telling a captain what to do could only be justified under certain circumstances.

He nodded and followed her from his ready room, up the bridge, into the lift, and to sickbay. The trip was made in silence. Mengis waited just inside the door, a tricorder in hand; gesturing, he led Jean-Luc to a biobed. Two beds down several of the staff already had Natalia under scrutiny. The lieutenant didn't look at him, though she certainly knew he was there.

He hadn't felt such an urge to fidget in a long, long time. Mengis took readings a number of ways and as he did so Deanna left sickbay. The CMO worked silently, without the chatter and friendly smiles of Dr. Crusher -- Jean-Luc missed his old medical officer most when actually forced to be a patient. At the end of his in-depth study of the captain's condition, Mengis paced, analyzing the results on a padd, until Jean-Luc wanted to shout at the man to stop walking around and tell him what was going on.

Finally, Mengis stood squarely in front of him and asked, "How long were you on the surface?"

"I'm not certain. It took a while to explain everything to the Ba'ku, and I glanced at the time in the meeting -- it would have been about three hours."

"I don't know how permanent these changes are. That remains to be seen." He held up the padd and fingered the end of his black mustache thoughtfully. "It's also impossible to approximate how far you've regressed; different systems have been regenerated at different rates. The patterns of regeneration on your bones left from your recovery from the Borg have all but vanished. Some remaining internal scar tissue from other old injuries has gone. Look at that sign on the wall over there."

"You mean the warning posted over the incubation chamber? What about it?"

"Can you read it?"

Jean-Luc blinked and looked around at other things. "My eyesight has always been good. But you're right, I couldn't have read the fine print on that sign before -- what else?"

"Hormones are on the upswing. I would bet that explains your restlessness in the meeting."

He didn't keep himself from gaping at that. "Are you saying. . . oh, please. Don't tell me I've turned into a seventy-year-old teenager."

"I wouldn't say that. Your body functions well, in some respects better than one could expect of a man your age who hasn't taken much advantage of modern anti-aging technology, but it's reacting to the sudden increase in hormonal levels. I'm sure the reaction would be much more pronounced if you were in fact on a par with a teenager. Which may happen, if you spend more time down there -- without further research I couldn't accurately predict it. And as I said, there's no guarantee this is permanent. The Son'a must have grown up here, after all, and left the planet. From Ro's description of them, they did not retain their youthfulness, though they may have believed they would."

Jean-Luc thought about that and rubbed his chest absently. "My heart. . . ."

"Hasn't reappeared. I doubt this miraculous radiation could regenerate a missing organ. There is no tissue left to work with."

"What is it about the planet that causes this?" he wondered aloud. "Is there any indication of *why* this has happened?"

"I have been wondering how the effect could possibly be duplicated," Mengis said. "I doubt very much that any collection method could harvest anything useful from the planet's rings. The ambient radiation from the Briar Patch has had no discernible effect on us. My guess is that the result is accomplished by a combination of filtration through the planet's atmosphere and some unknown amplification or filtering mechanism, perhaps even an additional band of radiation we haven't yet detected, provided by the rings. To obtain the apparent benefits permanently, one would most likely have to live on the planet permanently."

"That would make sense. Regeneration of living tissue would have to be constant -- are we done here?"

The doctor's lips twitched and his eyes held the smile -- one of the rare instances of Mengis showing genuine amusement. "For the moment. If in my more detailed analysis of the results of these scans I find anything of note, I'll let you know. I'll also work with Mendez when he returns, and see if the samples of plant and animal life show similar patterns of growth and reaction to the radiation. And if you could locate Ro Laren and have her come to sickbay, I would appreciate it. She has not answered my pages."

"Thank you, and I'll see that Ro pays you a visit shortly." Jean-Luc slid off the biobed, smiled at the staff -- the handful of people were standing to one side, Natalia apparently having been released -- and fled sickbay, realizing only a dozen strides down the corridor that he was traveling at a headlong running walk without even thinking about it.

His feet took him to his quarters automatically. Deanna hesitated, a plate in hand as she turned from the replicator, and smiled at him as he came in.

"It must have been good news," she said, watching bemusedly as he took the plate from her and left it on the table. "Jean-Luc?"

"I'm the oldest teenager in the galaxy." He put his arms around her and leaned in for a kiss. Her lips grazed his, then she giggled and glanced down.

"I guess so. There's a big problem with that, however. You have a ship to run, a crisis in progress, and a very pregnant target."

"The latter being a point in *my* favor."

She backed out of his arms, though she stopped as his hands reached her belly. "I will never understand what you find so attractive about me when I'm big as Betazed."

He searched for one of the baby's elbows, or a foot, pressing her abdomen gently. It wasn't difficult to find any part of Yves at this stage. "We're at an impasse. Will isn't due back for a few more hours, and Tom won't show up in the next few minutes either. We have our staff running tests."

"And at any time, we could be in the middle of a red alert," she added. "Jean, really, I'd love to -- but I can't, and neither can you. You wouldn't be suggesting it if you weren't -- "

She cut herself off as he turned away abruptly. He stared at the glowing corona of the Ba'ku sun dimmed by the filters in the viewports, running a hand over his head. She was right, of course. "I'm sorry."

"I thought it must be the radiation -- I don't believe I've ever sensed this much boundless youthful energy from you before. I was only concerned that there might be other, less desirable side effects, but if Gregory released you. . . . Would you settle for cuddling up and sharing some lunch?" Her fingers found the back of his neck, brushing his hair and sending chills down his spine. The telepathic touch she imparted felt like fluttering butterfly's wings.

"Nothing I do with you could be described as 'settling.' I love you, cygne," he murmured, half-turning to kiss her cheek, her throat, and as he slid his arms around her again, her lips. This time, she reciprocated. He disengaged when something occurred to him and looked her in the eye. "You should eat."

"So should you." She laughed silently, eyes dancing. "You're a growing boy, after all."

"Shut up." He could almost say it without smiling, but he couldn't say it convincingly.

Deanna's expression changed subtly, the look in her eyes turning sly. "You realize that hopefully by the time this is all over, it'll be our anniversary. We do have some leave coming up. I may not be hugely-pregnant by then, either."

He grinned, caressing her belly through the uniform, then sobered. "But you'll be tired, and I doubt either one of us will want to be far from the baby."

"That's reassuring to hear. Because if you'd said anything else, I might have wondered if this change in you had altered your behavior too much."

It sobered him further. "And you would have considered getting the counselor and the doctor together, and discussed -- "

"No. I would have asked your opinion first. If you had refused to think it over and rejected it outright without your usual introspection, then I would have involved Davidson and Mengis. But I think you're making the adjustment to the changes now."

"Carlisle to Picard."

Jean-Luc walked with Deanna to the table and pulled out a chair for her. "Back so soon, Ward?"

"The CMO gave us a strict time limit. We basically ran around grabbing samples and beamed up. We're in sickbay, sharing the wealth with him."

"Did any of the Ba'ku see you?" Jean-Luc asked.

"No, sir. Not that we know of, anyway. We kept an eye out for mysteriously-appearing footprints, too. Nothing showed up on scans for camouflage suits."

"Some interesting things about these samples, too," Mendez said, apparently right there with Ward. "They're indigenous, and show no signs of any unusual longevity. All of them seem to have lived about the life span you'd expect from their general species type. Anywhere from a few days to a few years. For single-celled organisms, it's minutes or hours."

"Suggesting that it's non-indigenous species that are affected," Jean-Luc said, then sighed. "Which means there won't be any native fauna flying off the handle in the conference room."

"Um, guess not," Mendez said, chuckling. "But until we know more about the effects on humans and whether there's a possible negative effect soon to follow the positive ones, Mengis doesn't want anyone going down again unless it's imperative."

"Noted. I'll look forward to the full report. Picard out."

"I suppose that means you'll have to be content with being bald," Deanna commented lightly.

Jean-Luc rolled his eyes. "I suppose." He pulled out a chair and almost got to sit down.

"deLio to captain."

"Picard here."

"Ro Laren attempted to circumvent a lockout in transporter room four and beam down to the surface. We have her in custody -- would you like us to confine her to quarters, or take her to the brig?"

Deanna's lips tightened. {I should have known she might try that.}

"I'll be right there," Jean-Luc said, hesitating on his way out to glare at Deanna for rising to follow. She crossed her arms and stood firm. "Fine. *Commander.*"

"Captain," she replied evenly.

He'd forgotten the doctor's request, he realized -- the distraction of the changes in him had been that disruptive. He resolved that it would be the last disruption he would allow. When he and Deanna arrived at the transporter room, they found three security officers holding Ro with phasers aimed at her. deLio stepped aside; he'd been blocking the door. Ro leaned against the wall opposite with crossed arms.

Jean-Luc studied her anew, looking for signs of regeneration -- she looked the same as the last time he'd seen her, if memory served. Which perhaps should have been a clue. The Maquis had had a rough time of it. Without access to the medical technology Starfleet officers took for granted, any wound became serious. He glanced at the security officers, at deLio, and dismissed them with an inclination of his head. They filed from the room, except deLio, who crossed his arms and met Jean-Luc's gaze in silent challenge. Acknowledging the chief of security's adherence to protocol with a brief smile, Jean-Luc turned to their would-be escapee.

"Going down to help the Ba'ku?" he asked.

She came off the wall, shuffling a step and looking at the floor. "You're not doing a lot."

"Did you know there are people in a cloaked ship watching the village?" Assuming a cloaked ship seemed logical, and mentioning camouflage suits to non-Starfleet personnel may not be verboten, but she was still a former Maquis, technically a criminal.

Startled, she met his gaze. "How do you know?"

"Because we're doing more than you think. Have you been so far removed from Starfleet for so long that you've forgotten how we function?" Jean-Luc glanced around the room. "You were going down without a weapon."

"What, and add stealing to the list?" she exclaimed, shrugging uncomfortably. "I'm a conscientious objector, not a criminal."

He exchanged glances with Deanna, who took two steps and drew even with him. "Why did you suddenly change your mind about helping us? You've been honest with us so far. It's why you aren't in the brig. We need your help."

Ro stared at her. Deanna cleared her throat quietly.

"That depends," Ro said at last. "Are you going to help the Ba'ku, or do whatever it is Starfleet wants?"

"We don't know what -- "

"I don't care what Starfleet wants," Ro exclaimed, voice rising. "Whatever it is, it'll wind up being bad for the Ba'ku. You fleeters don't sneak around unless there's something going on that'll put a black mark on the holy icon of idyllic peace in the Federation. Prophets forbid that anyone think there's anything resembling real *conflict* within Federation space -- "

"I think you're lumping together issues -- we aren't going to do anything to violate the rights of the Ba'ku. We only want to know more about the situation before acting on it, for the sake of the Ba'ku and the Federation." Deanna stopped herself short of a belly rub, fiddling with the hem of the jacket instead. "I can't see how one person beaming down could -- "

"Yeah, well, one person is sometimes all it takes. I've been on a few missions alone. I'm still here. There aren't even two thousand Ba'ku, they could hide in the mountains and at least make it difficult to find them."

"There may be other options. We should make contact with the Son'a -- "

"Talking things out won't do them any good, this isn't some diplomatic mission. You think the Son'a would listen to anything you have to say?"

Jean-Luc stopped himself short of interjecting, knowing from the look on Deanna's face that would be unnecessary. "Was I inferring that they would?" Deanna asked coldly. "Apparently, the only one guilty of making sweeping assumptions based on little fact would be you. Unless you've become one of the few Bajoran telepaths in existence and know something of my thoughts that even I don't?"

Ro's incredulous laugh ended as suddenly as it began. Her eyes met Jean-Luc's, and the sarcastic smile faded. She glanced back and forth a few times between captain and first officer, then put hand to forehead, wincing as if she had a headache.

"I'm sorry. I'm getting itchy just sitting around waiting for something to happen. I've just alienated the last three people from my cell trying to help the Ba'ku and I don't have anything to do but pace around thinking about it."

Deanna exchanged a glance with Jean-Luc. {Let me deal with this.}

"Commander, I'll be in my ready room -- please take Ro to sickbay. Dr. Mengis would like to run some tests, as she was part of the away team. And don't forget the final reviews on those cadets we're supposed to transfer."

"Aye, sir. The reviews are on your desk already, by the way."

She said it as he turned for the door. Refraining from expressing amusement at her parting shot, he said, "One of these days I'll find out who you've been paying to sneak things in there -- you haven't been in my ready room all day."

"That you know of."

The doors closed behind him. {Sure it's all right?}

{Go finish puberty, I'll be fine.}

{Brat.}

The last thing he sensed from her was a faint equivalent of an empathic goosing. The lieutenant in the lift car he entered looked at him oddly; ignoring the evidence of his reaction -- a disbelieving smirk that he tried to stifle -- Jean-Luc asked for the bridge.

The benefits of bonding with an empath still outweighed the drawbacks, but every once in a while, he wondered.

~^~^~^~^~^~

Ben answered the summons from Mengis, cutting short a followup session in the guise of a chat in Ten Forward with one of the rescued officers. When he got to sickbay, Dr. Bender pointed at the CMO's office.

Something was really serious when that happened. Mengis usually dealt with everything in main sickbay. One of the things he did best was keeping his staff 'in the know.' Sure enough, Ben found the captain and Greenman in there. He glanced at the chron on Mengis' desk -- fourteen hundred. Riker's shuttle was overdue. The captain's face said impatience -- explanations had yet to be made, apparently.

Ben sat in the remaining empty chair on Greenman's right, facing Mengis across the doctor's desk.

The CMO's green eyes flitted from one face to the next, then he placed a sealed sample container on the desk in front of him. Inside, a six-legged, fat yellow worm danced in a circle. It had glittering black eyes.

"This creature is not indigenous to this planet," he said. "It's six centuries old, at the least."

"How can you tell?" the captain exclaimed.

"Its genetics differ significantly from all other samples -- with the aid of the computer, I have isolated its origin. It came from Akkian Prime."

Ben glanced at the other two. Greenman didn't seem to understand just yet, but the captain went cold sober. "When survey teams found it five years ago, that planet was long uninhabited, thanks to a devastating bombardment of ionic weapons. I read about an archeological survey that went there. You're saying this. . . bug, is from Akkian Prime."

"The devastation struck the cities. There were still small isolated pockets of wilderness on the southern continent. One of the few lifeforms left was this species of rodent. Samples were taken and duly logged -- I can infer from DNA comparison that this specimen in front of me is in fact a relative of some of the samples from the initial survey. The records are in the computer."

"But six centuries. . . . You're certain of this?"

"Positive. And, this creature is incapable of reproduction. I believe that it was rendered sterile by the radiation, even as its life was prolonged."

Beside him, Ben felt Greenman stiffen.

"I asked the lieutenant to come back in for a few tests, since more than eight hours have elapsed. I feared that the effects I had noted initially would continue, but I'm happy to report that there has been no further regeneration evident. But I wouldn't send any of the younger crew on any away missions, at least until we have a better idea of just how much radiation is too much."

"Why am I here?" Ben asked.

"To help," Mengis said. "Akkian Prime was decimated five hundred years ago. Obviously, some of the population escaped. Regardless of when they came here, I estimate, from the pattern of regeneration we've seen in our away team and assuming physiological data from the tricorder scan Mr. Mendez brought back is accurate, within a year of settling here the Ba'ku would have been sterile."

"But there were kids running around," Natalia blurted.

"This place would have been a final stop in a search, no doubt," Dr. Mengis said. "Perhaps these are descendants of the original escapees. Perhaps they lived elsewhere for a time. However it happened, they were brought here as children and remain so, at least physically."

"So we know where they are from," the captain began.

"There is more," Mengis said. "Look closely at this creature."

All three of them did so, peering as he shoved the container toward them. "It's losing some of the fuzz," Natalia exclaimed.

"It's degenerating. My theory, which would appear to be borne out by the description of the Son'a, is that once regeneration reaches a certain point, leaving the planet's influence results in the rapid aging of the life form. It's inaccurate to speak of it as aging, actually, but so many of the symptoms are consistent with the changes that occur as humanoid physiology, it's as accurate a term as we'll find. This creature normally has a short life span, and it has a high metabolism -- the degeneration of a humanoid would probably be more gradual. But it would happen. And not only that, the rodent isn't returning to its original state -- it is aging, but its reproductive system remains inoperative. Counselor, if a group of people are led to believe they are ageless because they live far longer than they ought, what would their reaction be when they find themselves aging over the course of a decade or so?"

"Depending on the normal psychology of the people in question, anything from depression to manic rage, especially as the degeneration progresses. Especially if there is no way to counteract -- " Ro's words about the Son'a came back to him. "Ro said that there weren't many of the Son'a left, that she could tell. They can't reproduce, they're degenerating -- what if the reason they left wasn't their desire for technology? What if they realized the radiation kept them from having children, so they left and discovered that the radiation not only made them permanently sterile, it made them dependent on the planet -- so they try to return to regenerate?'

"Or they want revenge on whoever brought them here in the first place," Jean-Luc said. "This isn't the fountain of youth. It's a death sentence."

"But the people have been living down there for centuries," Greenman said.

"But it's the only place they *can* live -- the Ba'ku are prisoners here. Which leads me to believe that either Dougherty still believes this is the fountain of youth and is pursuing this folly in ignorance, or he knows the truth and has God knows what motives." The captain's sour tone was a rarity. Ben watched him rise and tug at his uniform. "Captain Glendenning is in range. We heard from him fifteen minutes ago. We're having a joint senior staff meeting -- "

"My concern extends to the crew rescued from the shuttles," Mengis said. "Counselor, what will their reaction be when they learn three of their number have died to keep this little secret?"

"Or the rest of our crew," Natalia put in, frowning. "Personally, I think we ought to just drop Dougherty off on the planet and get out of the Briar Patch. Maybe leave a few warning buoys around the perimeter to quarantine the area." She fell silent when the captain looked down at her steadily.

"The danger for us," he said, settling on the edge of his chair again, "is in losing our heads and reacting to this situation without thinking it through. This is not a red alert -- not an all-out battle with a declared enemy. Dougherty may or may not be ignorant. We will find out the truth before we act. Report to the briefing room, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir." She was up and out the door in seconds. Picard leaned elbows on knees and sighed heavily.

"It was a good thing you did not send the first officer down," Mengis said quietly after a moment's pause. "I could not begin to speculate on what it would have done to an unborn child. The most drastic changes have been on the reproductive systems of the away team."

"All of this sounds like speculation," Ben said.

"It is. There is no way of knowing exactly how metaphasic radiation will affect any one of us. Lieutenant Greenman's body was affected in different ways than Lieutenant Mendez's or Lieutenant-Commander Carlisle's. I have been reviewing the records on the four former Maquis -- the two humans, Sarah McCormick and Gary Dyer, were colonists on Salva II and Volan in the DMZ. Dr. Crusher's anxiety over her findings becomes understandable when one realizes that Dyer was nearly eighty years old, by the Terran calendar. He now appears to be about forty."

"You mentioned that before," the captain said. "Dr. Crusher said she believed they had assumed identities of people they had known, and you agreed." Doing so had been a common practice among the Maquis. Many of the colonists, though Federation citizens, had no DNA on file in Starfleet records. Assuming identities kept far-flung family members from being harassed by Starfleet security looking for terrorists on the run. Sometimes it was done in memory of friends killed by the Cardassians.

"I believe that may have been in error. I asked each of the Maquis their age. The Caitian would not answer, but McCormick claims to be in her mid-sixties, and told me Dyer's age. And in the database, both McCormick and Dyer's ages and birthdates match what she claims. I also doubt either would go to all the trouble of faking retinal scans. Ro claims, and McCormick verifies, that neither McCormick nor Dyer were active in terrorist activities -- they took roles as support personnel, facilitating communications and remaining aboard while others ventured where angels fear to tread." Mengis pursed his lips briefly. "Ro claims they were on this planet for a month, yet she herself exhibits little of the regenerative effect. Healing of old wounds, yes. A sense of well-being, more energy -- these are side effects our own away team reports after only a few hours. Ro said she did not experience these things right away. This would appear to indicate Bajorans are less susceptible to the radiation's influence."

"And humans are more susceptible. Myself included," Picard said, curling his lip.

Ben watched him ruminate. "If non-humans are less susceptible, perhaps an away team of -- "

"There will be no more away teams," Picard said. "One, the effects are unpredictable. Two, this situation is too sensitive, and the Ba'ku don't trust offlanders anyway. If anyone must go back down, it will be to speak with the Ba'ku, and that would mean I would -- "

"I can appreciate your motives, Captain, but -- "

"Doctor, we have people waiting for us. We should continue this in the meeting. I doubt there will be a need to return to the planet's surface."

Ben followed his superiors from sickbay at a brisk walk. He took note of the captain's body language -- Picard was angry. "Captain, you're certain you feel all right?"

Picard spun about quicker than expected, startling both Ben and Dr. Mengis. He paused, then said, "I'm quite certain. Thank you for your concern."

"I suppose Counselor Troi already spoke to you about what happened in the staff meeting early today," Ben said.

The captain's eyebrow went up; he stared, making Ben extremely uncomfortable for a few moments. "No. I spoke to my first officer about it, however. And my wife, after my visit to sickbay. I meant to speak to you, but I'm afraid my thoughts have been elsewhere -- Ro Laren attempted to beam down earlier, and it's been an afternoon for distractions. I'd like to see you after the meeting, however, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"Of course it wouldn't, sir."

Picard resumed his march up the corridor. Ben exchanged a look with Gregory, and the doctor slowed his pace, so Ben did, too. They let the captain forge ahead -- apparently, he was too preoccupied to notice their absence.

"Is there something wrong?" Ben asked as Picard disappeared around a bend in the corridor.

"Are you excluding these events from your review?"

Ben studied the hard green eyes, trying to guess whether Mengis would approve or disapprove if he did. "I hadn't thought in terms of inclusion or exclusion. Clinically speaking, his behavior after beaming down to the planet might be viewed as atypical. Influenced, most likely, by the changes caused by metaphasic radiation. Though it hasn't appeared to influence his cognitive function or his decision-making ability."

"Commander Troi visited me earlier, asking for details of his condition. I was uncertain at the time whether she asked as an officer or a wife."

"It wasn't as a wife."

"How can you know that?"

"She was on duty, speaking to a fellow officer. Besides, she told me she had confronted the captain to ascertain whether or not he showed signs of such radical behavior changes that he might become unfit for duty."

They walked together and caught a lift just a few moments behind the captain. They rode most of the way in silence. Gregory smiled wryly.

"Greg?"

"I was thinking of the day we found out about them. How I believed they wouldn't be able to make it work, and how some of the staff placed bets on how long they would be able to maintain their relationship aboard the ship before something forced them apart or off the *Enterprise.*"

"And?"

Gregory shook his head and ran his fingers through his short, black hair. "We all lost."

"Yeah, I lost that bet, too. With myself."

"When Deanna came in for that first prenatal checkup, Nurse Ci'a'fal tried to start another betting pool, on how much longer we would have her as a first officer."

"Everyone lost again?"

The doctor chuckled as the doors opened on deck three. "No one would place a bet."

 

~^~^~^~^~

Natalia entered the conference room on deck three to find that most of the participants had already gathered. LaForge and Carlisle stood near the replicator at one end, with Captain Riker. Dr. Crusher, Captain Glendenning, and Commander Data were sitting together with their backs to the viewports, through which the *Venture* was visible, sleek and looming large against the backdrop of the planet's rings. Commander McKillip, Riker's first officer, smiled at Natalia as she went to sit next to Mengis, a padd in hand. Ben Davidson took the seat next to her. Commander Troi was nowhere to be seen, yet.

Smiling weakly, Natalia met Commander Carlisle's eyes, then went around the table to sit next to Commander Data. "Hi, Commander," she said when the android smiled at her.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Belated congratulations on your promotion," Data said.

"Thanks. Miss us yet?"

The android's smile faded, just a little. "I do, but I also enjoy my position aboard *Venture.*"

"So which first officer is better, Data or Deanna?" Dr. Crusher was teasing Data, from her grin and the look she gave him.

"In what respect?" Natalia couldn't manage joking about that, this soon after the altercation with Ro.

"Well, overall, I guess."

"I don't see how I could compare. They both get along with the crew really well."

"You told me once that Deanna's harder on the cadets," Captain Riker said from Natalia's left, startling her. She whirled to find him sitting down next to her.

"Well, yeah. You can't give her a lame excuse. And she's like Commander Sensor Array when she's pregnant."

"You can say that again," Geordi put in, sitting next to Riker. "When we were looking for your shuttle, she sensed your presence before sensors could pick out a life sign. Judging from that, she's got a range of about nine thousand klicks at the moment."

"I thought Betazoids didn't do things like that." McKillip asked, looking down the table at Geordi.

"Deanna's half human," Riker put in. "She's an empath -- it's a little different than telepathy. She can't sense thoughts, and can't completely block out what she can sense. There's always a basic awareness of those around her and how they feel. It's why she was such a good counselor."

Natalia saw Mengis go still and drop his eyes to the table -- was that shock? Had the doctor not realized the extent of Deanna's ability? Maybe not -- she'd always been cagey about it.

"But she's always polite enough never to make a big deal about anything," Natalia said, turning to Riker. "When I was in counseling with her she never once addressed me directly about something I felt. I knew she knew, though -- she'd use it to know when to stop asking and let me sit until I could continue. I think the only person she ever confronts directly is the captain."

A pause, and Riker stared at her -- so did nearly everyone else. Except Ben and Geordi. The engineer even chuckled a little. "Mostly true. There was that one time the captain left the ship with you -- you know that look he calls the Betazoid Death Glare? It's a good thing it doesn't inflict any real damage. I'd be ashes on the shuttle deck if it did. I *never* want to really get on her bad side. Arguing with someone who can read you like that isn't any fun."

"I don't think I've ever been in a real fight with her," Dr. Crusher mused.

"You don't want to be," Riker said, leaning on the table. "Definitely not a prolonged one. She never loses."

The doors opened again, admitting the first officer and the captain. " -- understand it," the captain exclaimed, gesturing impatiently with a hand as he strode in and headed for the end of the table. "You can't tell me it makes sense!"

"It makes perfect sense," Deanna said, amiable and as pleasant as he'd been belligerent. She settled in the chair next to Ben, four chairs away from the captain at the head of the table. Smiling across at Riker, who was straight across from her, she clasped her hands on the shining black surface and looked at Captain Picard. "I hope you aren't going to pace again like you did this morning. It put most of us in sickbay with cricks in our necks."

He sat down, not looking at her -- a sure sign that if he had he would have cracked and become the affectionate husband Natalia had seen only a few times, and never when he was on duty. Natalia thought that if Deanna hadn't said anything he might have kept walking right around the room, just as he had before.

"Where the devil is deLio?" he exclaimed, bringing a hand up to tap his comm badge. But the door opened, interrupting him, and the four former Maquis filed in. They sat around the opposite end of the long table with empty chairs beside them, the young blond guy in the one chair at the end with Ro and the Caitian to his right and the woman on his left. Ro was the only one not scowling, and she seemed too interested in her reflection in the table. deLio stood at attention near the door.

"Now that we're all here," the captain said, all belligerence gone. "I believe you all know Ro Laren. Sara McCormick, Gary Dyer, and Desa are also survivors of the Son'a attack Ro mentioned. We're going to sit here until we come to a better understanding of what we're confronting, so I suggest you make yourselves comfortable. Captain Riker?"

"Sorry," Riker said, genuinely chagrined. "We never made it to where we could contact Command. We ran into Son'a vessels -- we nearly burned out the engines in the shuttle evading them. I don't think they were actively looking for us, but there's a blockade of them out there, just moving around in the clouds."

"I still think there has to be something else in this equation we're not aware of yet," Dr. Crusher exclaimed. "The Son'a are hostile to everyone small enough to bully easily. When a starship appears they turn into allies, suddenly. Then there's this planet where the old turn young again, but still, there's something missing."

Natalia almost said something, but glanced down the table at Ro and dropped her gaze to her hands, picking a nail with the corner of her thumbnail.

"Did you have something to say, Lieutenant Greenman?"

Startled, Natalia stared at Deanna -- she had to have been reacting to what she sensed. Natalia closed her mouth, then bit her lip. The first officer encouraged her, Captain Glendenning had encouraged her, Captain Picard had never reacted adversely to her obvious conclusions -- the Bajoran could just go sulk about it if she had a problem. If her mentors wanted her to keep trying, she would.

"I was just thinking. . . . The way the Ba'ku reacted would probably be about the best way to avoid people poking around much. We told them up front we respect other cultures' wishes, leave them alone if they want to be left alone, so what better way to avoid further scrutiny than claim borderline xenophobia? What kind of coincidence is it that these villages of theirs are sitting in the middle of the highest concentration of kelbonite on the whole planet -- a mountain range on either side, within a day's hike of the village?"

"The Ba'ku have every reason to be suspicious of offworlders," Ro insisted. "They want to be left alone."

"Well, fine, but if they wanted to be left alone why sit there with no warning system, no satellites, no planetary defenses to enforce their hands-off policy? Anij seemed to trust *you* just fine -- 'scuse me for thinking that's a bit off. You said you told them all about your past as a Maquis. Well, if a complete stranger came out of nowhere, and I was really *that* wary of offworlders, it'd take a lot more than a month to gain my trust. And you'd have to do a lot more than just *talk* to me. And you can bet you wouldn't be flying off with what little technology I possessed. If you told me you were once a renegade who took off in the middle of a mission -- for whatever motivations, however wonderful and true they might have been -- and broke an oath in doing so, I would be even less inclined to trust you. If I were the Ba'ku and I really wanted to be left alone, I wouldn't be just sitting there with no protection, no matter how much metreon gas and dust is keeping people from warping around and using energy weapons. They know about transporters, otherwise they'd be surprised at people just appearing out of nowhere. They have to know that anyone could just swoop in and start shooting or beaming them off -- they have to have some way of detecting ships in orbit. What kind of reaction is walking out with a big grin when she supposedly wasn't expecting to see you again? I could see concern, maybe. Questioning why you were back, maybe. Getting angry because not only did you come back, you brought a bunch of strangers with you, definitely! But they didn't do that."

Natalia made a point of not looking at other people, though she was nearly facing Riker -- out of the corner of her eye she could see him stiffen. She stared instead at Ro, who also showed no small surprise at this conclusion Natalia had reached while sitting at the helm that afternoon with nothing else to do but let her thoughts wander over the away mission to the village.

"How do we know the Ba'ku don't *already know* about those people in camouflage suits? How do we know those people weren't just hiding from *us?* Maybe the Ba'ku are under duress already and couldn't say a word to us because they knew they were being monitored?" Natalia asked, finally looking at the captain. "That last little warning Anij issued sure sounded like she knew. She even looked at the ground, like she wanted to see if there were new footprints going down as she spoke."

He met her gaze soberly. "And you didn't voice this theory previously because?"

"Because. . . I only thought of it because the helm gets really boring when we're in orbit, and I was distracting myself with how to work the scenario into my next holodeck simulation. Trying to figure out what motivations the Ba'ku might have for their actions. The more I tried to come up with reasons for isolating themselves this way and setting aside *all* technology, the more ridiculous it seemed to me that they'd do it. I try to think of any segment of the human population who would go that primitive in such a distant and undefended location, and I can't. I think it's a front, to make themselves appear simple. And then there's this -- they handed Ro and her friends a ship to get rid of them. Why *not* let them settle on the planet, on a different continent? They obviously know the population wouldn't get any bigger -- they know the radiation would keep them from having children. No threat of competition or potential squabbling over resources, twenty or so people -- "

"Wait a minute -- the Ba'ku have children!" Ro exclaimed.

Natalia turned back to her with a toss of her head. "You were here a few years ago -- did you see any kids down there that you recognized? Did they look *older* than they did before?"

Ro stared at nothing, deep in thought. She pressed her lips together pensively. "You're right," she said quietly. "Those were the same kids. None of them were any bigger."

"Dr. Mengis," the captain said, his tone expectant.

Which launched Mengis into the explanation of what he'd told them in his office, all the theories and extrapolations he'd come up with. Dr. Crusher asked a few questions, taking the dissertation into medical terminology Natalia couldn't understand -- things about ribosomes, genetic markers, and words she couldn't begin to remember, let alone pronounce. By the end the room fell silent.

"So why are the Ba'ku such a target for Dougherty?" Dr. Crusher asked finally, breaking the long silence. "You would think that, if he knew where the planet was, and he knew the effects of the radiation, the Federation would be leaving this place alone."

"We don't know that the Ba'ku are his target," Deanna said. "We don't know that the metaphasic radiation is his reason for being here. Because, as has been pointed out, there are large areas on the planet that our sensors cannot penetrate. The Briar Patch itself is a screening mechanism and the mountain ranges would be ideal places to hide anything. The Ba'ku *would* be a good front, if there's something here no one wants the Federation to find, because of the prime directive. They present every appearance of being a pre-warp civilization, aside from the fact that there are so few of them."

"Maybe we should just pull out," Carlisle said. "If Dougherty's worked a deal with the Ba'ku to hide something -- we've wondered from the beginning if there might be something top secret going on that would warrant the admiral's behavior. This might support that theory."

"Starfleet does have its secrets," Captain Glendenning put in. Natalia glanced at him, and realized that neither him nor Data had said a word yet. "I think I understand better some of the things that have happened so far, concerning our ships. I don't have any idea what might be hidden here in the Briar Patch but it's fairly obvious that some segment of Starfleet knows -- the only question remaining is whether it's a secret because it has to be, or if it's as Ro says, something akin to a black spot on the Federation's reputation. Are we willing to continue along this course, or are we going to bow out now, before we go any further and risk Starfleet security breaches?"

"The Ba'ku are an important factor." Data glanced around the table, then back at Captain Picard. "If they are willing participants in this, then there is in fact an alliance with the Federation that would come into play. If part of their agreement is to keep those officers who are ignorant of it in like state, they are within their rights and we are the interlopers. If they are under duress, the only moral thing to do would be to intervene, regardless of who has placed them under duress, if they wish us to help them."

"And what role could the Son'a play in all this?" Deanna sighed and tapped behind her ear, drooping a little in her chair. "There are too many unknowns here. Not the least of which, in my mind, is why there are less than two thousand people on the planet, yet I sense more. That would seem to hint at what might be hidden in those areas our sensors cannot reach. Of course, I'm just as willing to admit that it's easily another hormonal side effect. But usually those are transitory -- this has been persistent, since we arrived last night. And there's something familiar about what I'm sensing, too -- not that there are particular people there, but a familiar. . . . The best I could do to describe it to you would be as an odor. But there are often similarities between odors, like Betazoid salizedah and Terran sandalwood. To the human nose, they're the same -- this is similar, in that I can't shake deja vu. I've sensed the tenor of such emotions before."

"When?" the captain asked.

"I've been trying to deduce that. There have been so many encounters. . . . It isn't something I can simply look up in the computer, either."

"Does anyone else find it disturbing that Akkian Prime is located so close to the boundaries of Randra space?" Riker said softly. He looked up from the panel on the table before him, tapped a control, and the holoprojectors came on, displaying a map of the sectors involved. Akkian Prime was, presumably, blinking blue. The border Riker mentioned was a thick green barrier perpendicular to the table, hovering over the planet. Border and planet were within three light years of each other, if he'd used the standard scale.

"The Alliance annexed those sectors recently, claiming they were originally their territory centuries ago." Glendenning turned to Picard, as did nearly everyone else. "The original territory may have included Akkian Prime. They've had their own series of wars, after all, and now that they're recovering they must be re-establishing old borders. The thread *is* tenuous, but drawing a line from Son'a to Ba'ku to the Alliance does paint a bit of a dire picture. Especially thinking about the Son'a's role in the Dominion war."

The captain sat with a guarded expression, hands folded in front of him. "That may be entirely coincidence, but it may also be also be a factor. Thank you, Will."

"Bridge to captain," came Mendez' voice. "The *Renton* has just entered orbit and Captain Ventana is hailing us."

"We just hit the point of no return," Glendenning said. Captain Picard glanced at him, at Riker, then around the table. "If Ventana is still blindly following the admiral, that is. If not, or if we can convince him to do otherwise, we may have another ally."

"I'll be right there, Mr. Mendez," Captain Picard announced, rising from his seat. Another glance at the assembled. "I'll be back shortly. Perhaps with information that will clarify, or confuse us further, but that remains to be seen."

"Ventana thinks you're crazy," Ro said, bringing him to a halt just short of the door.

"Crazy?"

"Just a few comments he made, in passing to something his first officer said. I didn't pay much attention to it -- the guy's a stuffed shirt, from beginning to end. He said your eccentricities would mean the end of your career, before very long."

Captain Picard glanced at Troi. "Commander, if you would join me?"

She used the table for balance as she rose. "Flaunting your eccentricities?"

"Exploiting them. After you, Commander Sensor Array."

"Why, thank you, Captain Eccentricity."

After the door closed, Counselor Davidson crossed his arms on the table and fell forward, his head striking with a thunk. "Hell in a handbasket," he moaned, barely audible.

The *Enterprise* crew chuckled, and Carlisle said, "Chin up, Counselor. Reviews only happen once a year."

Ben sat up and propped chin in hand. "And this is the *first* year I've had to do it for her when she was anything other than a counselor."

"If it is any consolation, I have been told that I was a problem for her," Data said. "I am the only android in Starfleet. She admitted that my psychology, although based on that of an average human, differs significantly and that she had to improvise."

Ben didn't look too pleased by that, but he said, "Thanks, Commander." Natalia thought he might be feeling inferior -- she remembered those initial sessions with him, after Deanna's move.

"I didn't talk to her," Natalia said.

Ben smiled sadly. "That's not what's in your file."

"She probably didn't put anything in for the first few sessions," Natalia said. "I didn't give her anything to make notes about. If she didn't think you could do the job, she wouldn't have let you have it."

"Is that so?"

"If the captain didn't think you could do it, he would've asked for a different counselor," she added. "Dr. Mengis hasn't complained, either, I'll bet."

"You know, you're supposed to be my *patient,* Lieutenant," Ben said, grinning. Natalia blushed as she realized Carlisle, Riker, and most of the others present were also amused -- even Dr. Mengis smiled thinly at it.

"Forget captain's protege, she's been paying more attention to the first officer," Geordi said.

"Oh, crap in a hat," Natalia blurted, slumping and crossing her arms. It only made them laugh aloud at her. Riker elbowed her in the arm.

"At least you've picked a good role model -- how many counselors *you* know who would be up to the XO's job?" he said.

Natalia forced a grim smile and stared at Ben. "Well, I know one who whupped my tail in the last Redman's Folly tournament. I think Counselor Davidson wants *my* job."

"I don't think so. Flying a virtual attack sled and piloting a starship are two different things." Ben smirked at her. "Besides, that was only the second time you played, you said. What level are you on now?"

She had managed to reach level four last week after a lot of swearing and crashing, but she said, "You think I have time for it? deLio has too much for me to do -- I do work security when I'm not at the helm, remember?"

"Actually, I have considered adding a Redman's Folly tournament to our training maneuvers," deLio put in, surprisingly. "It promotes hand-eye coordination."

Natalia pulled one of her hyper-dismayed faces. "But I was just getting used to knitting!"

Over the guffaws and chuckling, Glendenning exclaimed, "The minute I saw her teasing Ambassador Worf at the wedding, I *knew* she'd be trouble!"

~@~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 13

Jean-Luc eyed the man on the main viewer. "If you require assistance -- "

"We have most of the damage repaired, thank you, Captain," Ventana said smoothly. He stood with hands behind his back; around him, his crew sat and stood rigidly at attention. "Have you heard from the admiral? We have been out of contact with him for six days."

Jean-Luc didn't look at Deanna; she sat in her place, quietly observing. Under more normal circumstances, he wouldn't resort to this, but there were already too many questions without answers. "The last time I spoke with Admiral Dougherty he and the *Lexington* were traveling at one-third along a heading of bearing 234 mark 34. I must admit some curiosity -- he hasn't been forthcoming with details. Captain Glendenning and I have been waiting here for some time now. We were just sitting down with a cup of coffee when you called."

"I do not know the details of the admiral's mission, either, but it is not for me to question." Ventana was conspicuously shorter than most of his crew. The duty uniform inevitably betrayed the cut of his jib -- he tended to round his shoulders, and had a bit of a paunch. The short reddish hair had to be the result of regeneration; it was sparse and tended to fly away, otherwise he wouldn't have felt it necessary to use whatever it was he'd plastered it to his head with, something Jean-Luc didn't like to remember resorting to, back when his had been retreating too rapidly.

{Jean-Luc, Ro said she mapped the patch incorrectly for Ventana. He lied to us when he said he'd been out of contact for six days. Either that or he had Ro and the other Maquis on a fool's errand and already knew where this place was -- but I sense he's not telling us the truth, and that he does not like dealing with us. He dislikes what he is doing.}

Jean-Luc paced a little and looked broody to cover for the brief conversation, then looked up at Ventana again. "Would you care to join us, Captain? It would appear you will be playing the same waiting game."

"Thank you, Captain, but I have my duties to perform. Perhaps after shift is over. Ventana, out."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow as he turned from the screen, which flicked to the usual logo. "Did I detect a note of chastisement in that last?"

"You did. I'm sorry, but he really does make you appear too relaxed," Deanna said, a cynical twist to her smile. {Not to mention he probably knows you disregarded the admiral's orders to be here.}

He glanced around at the subdued amusement of the bridge crew of the moment. "It's sad, but I knew the time would come -- I'll beam the 'Official Starfleet Martinet' award over to him. If I can get it off the bulkhead in the ready room, that is."

Deanna shook her head and she preceded him into the lift. "You were never a complete martinet, Captain."

"You know, you're right -- it took a real martinet to put you in a uniform full time. I've never quite forgiven Jellico for that."

She gave him a cynical, narrow-eyed stare. "Oh, so you liked the Counselor Cleavage look?"

"I never called you that! I would have keelhauled anyone who tried."

"I doubt it. You might have glared -- though that would have been enough, in most cases." She rubbed her eye, frowning.

The lift stopped and the doors opened. "You're certain you're all right?"

"Oh, just a bit of moodiness -- I'll be fine. Let's go see what they're all laughing about."

Jean-Luc went in first, and as the briefing room door opened caught Natalia in mid-exclamation. " -- all picking on me. I'm just a -- " She gaped, fell back into her chair, and came to attention.

Jean-Luc scowled at her as he headed for his chair. He noticed everyone else, even the Maquis, trying to keep straight faces -- at least there was that. Maybe a little goofiness from the lieutenant had succeeded in easing tension. Using humor in situations like this had failed him in the past, but usually worked for Will or Deanna. A matter of demeanor, he supposed. His half-baked attempt on the bridge hadn't elicited an audible reaction from anyone.

"Useless," he said, answering the looks he was getting. "Ventana is covering for something. He claims to not have been in contact with the admiral for six days -- how did he know where this planet was?"

"I suppose it's possible he might have simply found it while mapping," Carlisle said. "Except Commander Troi probably sensed he was lying?"

"What I sense isn't enough to act upon. And Ventana isn't going to be of any help to us." Deanna forgot herself enough that she rubbed her belly. Then she scratched her right shoulder, an odd thing for her to do. "He didn't tell us anything we don't already know. Although, he wasn't surprised to see us. That may mean. . . ."

"Commander?" Will leaned forward. So did a number of others -- Deanna stared at nothing, then looked up at the viewports.

"Bridge to Captain Picard," Mendez hailed, sounding like he was about to announce their imminent doom. "Sir, fifteen ships have just come within sensor range. Four of them are towing a very large object. The *Lexington* isn't among them."

"Thank you, Mr. Mendez. Hold position." Jean-Luc looked around the table. "We've just run out of time for leisurely consideration of the problem."

"Suggestion," Tom said, glancing at Data. "The *Enterprise* goes for clarification of orders. Will and his crew can be my guests for a while. Since we have communication capability thanks to Commander Sensor Array's suggestion of using buoys, we should know in short order whether we can wrest *Lexington* back from the dreaded doughboy."

"Leaving *Venture* outgunned by the Son'a?" Deanna said. "Chances are a little better with two Sovereigns, if it comes to actual battle."

"Are you implying, Commander, that I can't handle a bunch of bagfaces with staples in their heads?" Tom exclaimed, quirking an eyebrow as he lounged in his chair.

"Not at all. I was concerned that you might suffer a burst ego, if you took them all on by yourself. Egos can explode if they get too large. Very messy. The maintenance crews hate that."

Jean-Luc surveyed the smiling faces, and felt a chill. "Dr. Mengis, what are the radiation levels in this room, currently?"

Even Mengis had been smiling. It disappeared quickly. He raised the tricorder he'd been carrying to quote results from, and scanned the nearest officer. "The captain is right. We are being affected by the radiation from the rings." Rising, he moved from McKillip to Davidson, then to Deanna. "The fluctuation of the endocrinal secretions is not so pronounced as it was when the away team returned from the planet -- and in Commander Troi's case, the influence is minimal. I believe her behavior may be attributable to her continued hypersensitivity to the emotions of others due to her own normal hormonal fluctuations. The influence on various species continues to appear random, but less pronounced in non-humans."

He moved to deLio, scanned briefly, and continued around the room. The Maquis looked up at him curiously but didn't object to his attention as he scanned each of them. "Significant that previously-affected humans show very little response. And the Bajoran physiology remains the least affected. Curious. I think perhaps this may be due to the greater differences in anatomy -- L'norim and Bajorans share one notable characteristic that humans do not have in common with them."

"What -- " Beverly got up and started around the table toward her colleague, meeting him behind Ro. "Wait. Endocrinal -- the pineal. Neither of them have it. No secretions of melatonin."

"There are a number of peptides and neurotransmitters that may also play a factor. Betazoids have an analogous gland, the -- "

"Are we to assume that you're on the trail of something verifiable?" Jean-Luc said. "Something more than hunches and theories?"

Mengis looked up from the tricorder. "Hypothesis -- younger crew are more affected than older. The level of certain hormones in the body may be a determining factor in the process of regeneration -- the more growth hormone present in the system, the more severe the fluctuations of hormones. And as I said before, though manifested symptoms would lead one to the conclusion that this is an anti-aging effect, I suspect that a broader spectrum of subjects would prove that the hormonal imbalances caused would have a more random effect than previously assumed."

"Somatomedins," Beverly crowed. "You said something about bone growth -- growth hormone stimulates the synthesis of somatomedins in the body, which in turn can cause hyperplasia of most body tissues. Including bone. In older patients the effect must include stimulation of growth hormone, and since the amount of it decreases somewhat as we age, the resurgence of it sets off a chain reaction in the -- "

"Recommendations?" Jean-Luc exclaimed.

Mengis' green eyes were more intense than Jean-Luc had ever seen before. "As a precautionary measure, if you are considering Captain Glendenning's plan? All personnel under the age of thirty, or the species-relative equivalent, who share certain common physiological traits that appear to exacerbate the effect of the metaphasic radiation emanating from the planet's rings must be aboard the *Enterprise* when it leaves. If I extrapolate from the limited sample data I have, the initial effect is compensated for quickly and the more long-term effects take place over a greater period of time. Since I have a sample of one person under thirty and that one person showed radical elevations in so many hormones and declinations in so many others, I have to assume that prolonged exposure would be more detrimental for anyone in that age range. It would appear, from what data we have collected so far, that the radiation directly affects the automatic regulation of the endocrine system."

"Give Dr. Crusher copies of all your test results and brief her on anything that will further her understanding of this, as quickly as you can." Jean-Luc turned to his first officer as the doctors hurried out, exchanging polysyllabic medical terms at a rapid rate. "Commander, coordinate with Mr. Data for the transfer of *Venture* personnel under thirty. Counselor Davidson, please see about the *Lexington* crew members -- return as many of them as you deem fit to duty and transfer them to *Venture*. Commander LaForge, do you have anything to tell me?"

"We have half impulse, without damaging the engines. It's the best we could do under the circumstances. I still have Batris working on the shields."

"Prepare another series of communications buoys, with the help of Lieutenant Greenman, who will plot us the shortest route between here and the edge of the Briar Patch. As for our guests. . . . " Jean-Luc glanced down the table at them. "You may remain or leave with the *Enterprise.* Leaving may result in -- "

"Incarceration," Sarah said -- the first time he'd heard her speak. She smiled sadly. "We knew that. If we remain?"

"You may be put to work." Tom leaned elbows on the table, balancing his chin on this thumbs. "But you can bet Admiral Doughnut won't know you're around -- we'll hide you in the jeffries tubes if we have to. I'm sorry, but the guy's a few gallons short of a liter. My money's going on the message coming through to toss him in the brig, toot sweet."

"I think the doctor should have finished his trip around the table." Riker grinned, leaning on his elbow. "Bet he'd find that Tom's colloquial gland is overstimulated."

"You're asking for it, Captain Cottontail."

"This is worse than having Shelby aboard!" Jean-Luc exclaimed. "Data -- "

"Impartial and ready to take command if everyone else turns into teenagers, sir," Data said smoothly.

"Thank you. Dismissed!"

~^~^~^~^~^~

Ben walked into main sickbay to find Mengis sitting on a biobed, apparently alone and running scans on himself.

"Where's the staff?"

"I have them roaming the ship with tricorders, checking personnel for symptoms. I'd like to be certain we've covered all possible patterns of reaction to the radiation."

"I just finished returning most of the *Lexington* crew to active duty. Three of them wanted to take leave and stay aboard the *Enterprise.* Can't say as I blame them."

"What do you think will happen next?"

Ben rolled his eyes and leaned on the end of the bed. "You're asking me?"

"You're on the bridge more than I am. What do you think the captain will do if we find out Command supports Dougherty?"

"Depends on what Glendenning et al find out about the Ba'ku and Son'a. If circumstances dictate moral basis for intervention, he'll find a way to intervene."

"Increased levels of LH," Mengis muttered.

"What?"

"Lutenizing hormone."

"Oh." Ben tried to remember his anatomy and physiology coursework, of years ago. "So, more testosterone?"

"And in the female, more estrogen -- which in turn results in a surge in LH, which results in ovulation. Basically, a woman undergoing long-term exposure to this radiation would ovulate repeatedly at irregular intervals until she had no eggs left. The hormonal imbalances would prevent implantation of any fertilized egg."

"We have a bunch of sex-crazed sterile people, in other words."

"No. Sterile women. It would take a year, possibly two, for it to run its course. And the increases are not such that it would make anyone sex-crazed. More receptive, perhaps, but not radically so." He shook his head and studied the readout. "Such unpredictable fluctuations."

"Guess it's a good thing Troi's near term? Sounds like something that might cause a miscarriage."

Mengis gave him an intense look. "It has. One of the engineers was a month pregnant. The sooner we are gone from here, the better I will feel."

~^~^~^~^~

Ro followed Geordi -- unfortunately that lieutenant had to be there, too, helping the engineer with the buoys in one of the cargo bays. She ignored Greenman as much as possible.

"It's been an interesting time, all right," Geordi said, clamping an antigrav unit to his side of a casing.

"But why *her*?"

Geordi grinned at her, then turned back to what he was doing -- lifting his side of the shiny black probe casing. He and Greenman walked the thing to a framework erected in an open area. Detaching the antigrav units, they opened panels and began working at the inside.

"You'd have to have been there, Ro. The captain's only human, y'know. And there was a long interval during which he had a real down period. He lost his only brother, his nephew -- "

"He had family? Why did I think he didn't?"

"Probably because he's always come across that way, until those last few years when he started to open up a bit. I've always thought he must be really lonely." Geordi lowered a module into the opening, seated it with a wiggle, and used a tool to fasten it down. "Dr. Crusher said once he wasn't always that way. She thought it was a defense mechanism -- he's lost a lot of friends over the years. When all your friends are Starfleet, that happens. As for why her, specifically? Well. . . couldn't tell you. As Mama Malia would say, 'that's amore.'"

"Sir, should we increase the gain on the shields? Make them stronger?" Greenman asked.

"See if you can't find a balance between longevity and strength. Get me that spanner over there." Geordi half-turned to Ro as Greenman went to get the device. The implants altered his appearance -- hard to get used to them.

"What's your take on Glendenning?"

"Nice guy. Data says he's got a demeanor like Captain Picard's until he's off the bridge. Sure makes Beverly happy. They got together right about the same time the captain got married -- boy, that was interesting! Everyone was there -- except Guinan, for some reason. Nechayev showed up, and the head of the JAG office, H'nayison. Worf came all the way from Qo'nos, and Riker couldn't quit grinning. Data gave a fantastic toast -- he's changed a lot, too. That's partly because he enlisted Deanna's help with his personable subroutines. His humor's gotten a lot more subtle since the emotion chip."

Ro groaned. "Why do I get the feeling Deanna is the patron saint of all that's good around here?"

Geordi's smile dwindled. He turned back to helping Greenman reconfigure the guts of the probe. "She's not. She's always been a good officer. A few months after she and the captain got together she started putting herself through the command coursework, challenging classes and enduring maneuvers with the cadets. In addition to her duties. And she did it under Data -- ask Natalia here what being in one of Data's planned maneuvers can be like. I think she even participated in some of them with Deanna, right, Nat?"

"Yep." Natalia chewed her lip as she worked some stubborn item with her fingers. "I don't think the captain knows what she put herself through. First couple of weeks, the dumb cadets couldn't stop laughing and talking about the captain's woman making a good show of trying to prove she wasn't just what she was, some pretty girl with a shrink's degree. They stopped laughing eventually. And she could tell they were amused, too, she always can. She just ignores it."

"You're probably right about the captain. If he knew he might've reacted to it." Geordi used the spanner again, tossed it aside, and leaned on the casing for a moment's rest. "Or maybe not. Don't know. Anyhow, I know it couldn't have been easy being a full commander going through those maneuvers with cadets and ensigns. She had a tough time remembering the names of some of the components in engineering. Got it down now, though."

Natalia grinned, keeping her eyes on what her hands were doing in the depths of the casing. "But I'll never forget the war games. That stupid cadet, what was his name? No concept of when to question orders -- not that I knew that much either at the time. She flew us all over the sector and into that red giant without blinking. I thought Captain Riker would pop a vein when he found out she'd blown him to blazes."

"The captain put her in command in a war game." Something else Ro had trouble believing.

"Well, yeah. She did real well, all things considered. We escaped simulated destruction." Geordi glanced at Ro again. "I missed you after you left, Ro. Good to see you back and in one piece. Any ideas of what you'll do next, after you leave here?"

Ro scuffed her boot. She'd chosen something close to the current duty uniform, a black tunic and pants, with standard issue footwear. "Nope. I probably can't count on the captain's good graces again. He went to a lot of trouble for me last time and it really disappointed him that I joined the Maquis -- he hasn't been too friendly. I guess I can understand that."

Geordi pulled both hands out of the casing, crossed his arms, and faced her. "Have you tried talking to him? Not as a former officer, or a Maquis -- person to person."

Ro stared askance at him.

"Guess you never did that even when you were in his good graces, huh? There's something different about being on the ship these days, Ro. You ought to give it a try. Heck, Nat talks to him all the time."

Greenman went red-faced and slammed the panel shut. Picking up the antigrav unit, she headed for the storage racks of casings.

"I don't think so," Ro said. "Guess I should get going, before this boat takes off with me. It was good to see you again, Geordi. Hope we meet again some time."

"Hey, we're both in this adventure -- we'll see each other again before it's over." Geordi slapped her shoulder. "Good talking with you again. Don't be a stranger."

"Yeah, and definitely don't talk to Captain Picard," Greenman blurted, her voice echoing out from the racks. "Wouldn't want to ease his conscience any. Heaven forbid he might be human enough to take it personally when one of his favorite officers skips out on him."

Geordi raised both eyebrows and said nothing. Ro stared at the racks, through which she could see the lieutenant moving back and forth. "Geordi's right, you've been paying too much attention to the first officer."

Greenman came around the end of a rack. "Actually, I've been paying attention to the captain. I told him he shouldn't trust you. Sorry to burst your pity fit right apart, but he's a captain -- everyone on the ship right down to the little green-gilled cadet is his responsibility. He *always* pays attention to responsibility, and he admits it when he's made a mistake -- he lost an officer because he misread you. No CO who's worth a damn likes to lose a member of his crew, especially if it's his fault. So you go right ahead and run off on another little cause, and forget about giving him an opportunity to consider giving you another opportunity. After all, he gave an *inferior counselor* a chance -- and she's told the cadets about some of her mistakes. But, hey -- you can just keep feeling bad, if it makes you feel better. He'll respect that choice just as much as any other."

Ro bit her lip, spun, and stalked out. She hurried through the corridors bottling up her anger at the glib lecture -- how dare that officer's pet tell her that! After all those hijinks in the conference room, making them all laugh at her -- she performed for them like a trained animal and they rewarded her for it. Forget second chances. If that was the way it was, these days, if things had come to this --

"There you are."

Picard's voice startled her. She froze at the end of a corridor and realized that, for the past fifteen minutes or so, she'd been storming along with no idea of where she was going. She turned around slowly.

"The rest of us are waiting for you. Didn't you hear the page?"

"You're going, too?" Ro walked toward him and as she caught up he turned to walk with her.

"You have a problem with that?"

She bit her tongue. When they were in a lift and riding, she glanced at him finally, and found him appraising her with more curiosity than anything else. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear the page -- I was a little upset."

"I can see that. I thought you were talking to Geordi."

"He had work to do."

"With Lieutenant Greenman, who you don't care for, evidently."

"She's a suck-up -- I hated people like her at the Academy. Always licking the instructors' boots, always pulling that extra shift, always going for extra credit. Repeating back what the higher-ups want to hear." Anger crept into her voice more than she'd wanted.

"Is that what you think I would allow on my vessel?"

Ro jerked her chin up. "I don't know what you allow any more. A lot more than you did when I was aboard."

To her surprise, he smiled -- no, grinned. Something about that amused him. When he noticed her confusion, he shook his head. "That isn't what my wife says."

"Oh, right."

"It's not what Command says. They've poked around for the past two years, and found nothing to complain about."

Ro crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. The lift halted. He waited for her to move, but she stood there staring at him. After long moments of mutual study, she took a step for the door, then faced him again.

"Did Riker tell you I was sorry?"

Immediately his gaze slid sideways, ending up focused on the control panel. "Yes, he did."

"Did you believe him?"

He edged past her. "There have been times in my life that I wasn't certain what to believe."

"I was sorry, you know," she blurted, following him. "You invested a lot in my career -- I know that. Keeping me aboard, sending me to advanced tactical training, and all in spite of my record. I've always been thankful for what you did."

"I was thankful for the d'k tahg Worf gave me as a gift. I would never feel justified in using it to some end that would dishonor it."

"That isn't what I -- " The look he gave her when he halted there in the corridor, just short of the transporter room, silenced her and glued her feet to the floor.

"Isn't it? I don't give gifts like that any more, Ro. When officers aboard this ship meet the criteria Starfleet sets for the positions they hope to attain, that's when they get them. No passing applications to admirals with a nudge on the applicant's behalf. No waivers. No special treatment, no overlooking prior insubordination."

Ro hated her own reaction at that, hated the shame. Hated Greenman, with a passion. Hated everyone with a uniform. Why had she ever thought she wanted to be anything like them? In the Maquis you didn't get respect because of pips, you got it when you deserved it. When you earned it. Making the bridge crew laugh and sleeping with the CO didn't become a factor in the equation.

"So promote the counselor for playing the yes man. I knew there was a reason I hated Starfleet."

He made a sudden move toward her, but redirected himself and marched stiffly for the transporter room. Squaring her shoulders, she reminded herself that she wasn't his subordinate, that he couldn't do anything worse than throwing her in the brig, and followed him.

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 14

Jean-Luc came out of the transporter room on *Venture* with Ro still on his heels and still silent. Thank God -- he already felt like throwing a punch. More of the effect of radiation, no doubt, he'd never been one to hit people in an argument --

Oh, sure he had. More than forty years ago, he'd been that type. He'd also been the type to question and challenge everything. Just like Ro. Just like Natalia. Except he hadn't had half of Natalia's sense.

Riker came around the corner ahead of him. "What are you doing, Jean-Luc?"

"You thought you and Tom would get to have all the fun?"

Will didn't smile at it. "Why is your first officer -- "

"My first officer can run out and check with Command on her own quite easily. Can't yours?"

At that, Will eyed him suspiciously. "I don't doubt that. What I'm doubting is why you're here, and what you think you can accomplish that the rest of us can't. Overcompensation, Jean-Luc? You don't have to keep proving she can function on her own."

"I feel an obligation to be here. I went down to see the Ba'ku -- I should be on hand to explain to Anij why we are still here. It would erode her willingness to cooperate if other officers simply appear without warning."

"You have a first officer who's about to have a baby. You're going to leave the second officer in command in the middle of this?"

Jean-Luc dodged around him. "Stop maligning my officers."

"Deanna -- "

Spinning on his heel, Jean-Luc jabbed a finger at him. "Leave my wife out of this! Not another word about her -- or about my motivations, from either of you!"

He strode into the nearest lift without looking back. He'd had enough of Ro being his albatross, she could be Will's elephant for a while now.

~^~^~^~^~

Ben had known things would get this tense. In this case, he wished for disappointment. He sat in his place on the bridge and watched Ward Carlisle's shoulders. Like clockwork, every five minutes or so, one shoulder would go up in the attempt to ease tension.

They left the planet, the fleet of Son'a ships and the two Federation vessels behind, moving out at half impulse. The Briar Patch boiled around them like an angry sea of lava. The captain had remained with *Venture* to continue what he'd begun with the Ba'ku. Deanna sat staring at the viewscreen as if she believed doing so would cut a way through the gasses and dust for the ship.

Every so often, deLio announced detection of another ship. The first officer acknowledged it and left it at that. No one attacked, no alerts were called. At regular intervals Ward let her know another buoy had been released on schedule. Every hour, a communications test was conducted -- every hour the *Venture* responded.

It was the longest six hours Ben could remember, but he couldn't leave the bridge. Time became meaningless after a while. He watched the chron on his display tick, in between brief forays into reports he should be doing. Inevitably, he would erase what little he accomplished and look again at the viewscreen.

Then, as he resolved to leave the bridge and do something constructive, one last time he looked -- the dust slowly cleared. Stars. They had punched through to the edge.

Tension fairly hummed in the air.

Deanna sat a few moments after deLio announced they'd cleared the Briar Patch. Then, in a toneless voice, she called all-stop and requested an open channel to Command, and left the bridge. The instant the doors to the ready room closed behind her several people exhaled noisily.

"Shit," someone in the back muttered repeatedly. Someone else shushed him. Had to be Lieutenant Vane, he had a fondness for the word rivaling Captain Glendenning's.

Half an hour later -- it took a look at the chron for Ben to know that -- Deanna came out looking just as emotionally-blank as when she'd gone in. "Senior staff, in the briefing room," she announced as she crossed the bridge.

The shift of personnel took place. Ten minutes later, the senior officers sat around the table in the small room just off the main bridge, all hands folded on the table. Geordi and Gregory, coming up from engineering and sickbay at Ward's page, were the last to arrive.

They waited again. Natalia fidgeted. Geordi closed his eyes and let his head fall forward, jerking it up when deLio's relief announced an incoming message from Starfleet Command. The viewscreen at the end of the room opposite Deanna lit up, and there sat Fleet Admiral Nechayev, ramrod straight and looking like she was already furious.

"Commander," she said coldly, by way of greeting. "I expected Captain Picard."

"I realize that. I'm contacting you on his behalf. I have been authorized to tender his resignation unless you can provide me with adequate answers to the questions we have today, Admiral." Deanna matched the coldness with polite, but clipped, tones. At the mention of a possible resignation, everyone stiffened. Ben's heart thudded from his chest down to his stomach.

The admiral sat back in alarm, then regained composure, and continued with less frigidity. "You are off course, and your captain is missing. Please explain this."

"We received a distress call, very faint, and responded to it. The emergency buoy was at the edge of what is called the Briar Patch, in sector four four one. Fearing the worst, we searched, and found several disabled shuttlecraft full of Starfleet personnel from the *Lexington.* Including the captain and most of his senior staff. It seems they were ordered to this area and in the course of helping Admiral Matthew Dougherty with what has evidently been a high security operation, they were abandoned in sabotaged shuttles for daring to question orders. Not for disobeying, or refusing -- for questioning. Three of the abandoned personnel are dead. We wanted answers from Admiral Dougherty. We came across *Venture* which had also been dispatched to aide Dougherty, removed from their own tour of duty to do so -- which we found curious again as they were much further from the sector than *Enterprise* and in the middle of aiding a Federation colony, while we were merely surveying and mapping. After *Venture* made its rendezvous with the admiral, they were ordered to establish orbit around a planet and remain there until further notice. With more questions than answers, Captain Picard spoke to the inhabitants of the planet and found that they had settled here centuries ago. As the admiral appears to be working with the Son'a to some unknown end, and the Son'a and the Ba'ku appear to be the same people, thus making whatever transpires between the two groups a civil matter, the captain suspected a number of things but could prove none. So I am here to request information and obtain orders on how to proceed."

"You called me out of a meeting to request information?" Nechayev grated.

Deanna rose from her chair, knitting her fingers over her belly, and gazed coolly at the screen. "Yes. Since the Son'a have fired upon Federation personnel, and Admiral Dougherty seems to be in league with them, I question this situation. I questioned many things during the war and said nothing, as did many of us -- we are not at war, and this is not a DMZ, nor is it disputed territory. The Ba'ku wish to be left alone. The Son'a have already killed people. I have forwarded the logs to you. I await your response."

"I don't have time for -- "

"I don't have time for it, either, Admiral, but Captain Riker's ship was taken from him with no explanation and no regard for his crew. Captain Glendenning has no idea why he was called at high warp to respond, interrupting his own mission. Captain Picard and I have an entire crew questioning this inexplicable behavior of Dougherty's and rumors of war and martial law are flying." Deanna's voice rose, and began to crack here and there with stress. "Captain Riker himself attempted to reach the edge of the Briar Patch in a shuttle to contact Command and was blockaded by Son'a ships. The Son'a and the admiral are to all indications working together. He barely made it back to safety. Does Starfleet intend to make a habit of tying blindfolds on highly-trained and reliable starship captains? Does Command intend to institute regulations that officers may no longer request information, and that such requests are punishable by abandonment in dangerous regions of space with emergency power only? We have at times received orders and followed them without understanding why -- but we aren't at war, and the admiral had no cause to behave as he did, from what we have seen here."

"There is a chain of command -- "

"Knowing what I stand to lose if I do start calling you first for everything, do you honestly believe I wouldn't have followed procedure if I could afford to do so? Dougherty was in contact with Admiral Harris. The chain of command would have resulted in your direct attention, but it would have taken days. We don't have days. The *Venture* is outnumbered by Son'a, who were the Dominion's friend during the war -- the ketracel white facilities, the -- "

"Point taken, Commander."

"We do not wish to interfere, but the longer we are here, the more it appears to be something in which someone *should* interfere, and the less it seems to be a Federation-supported operation. And if it is something the Council supports. . . I suspect there will be a number of us here who will be making our way out of Federation territory soon."

Nechayev stared at Deanna. It seemed to sink in at last. "Hold position. I will contact you in no less than an hour. Nechayev, out."

A moment of stillness, then Deanna leaned, one arm on the table. Carlisle let out a pent-up burst of air. "You bossed an admiral. Damn. You pushed around an admiral and you're still an officer."

"Dr. Mengis," Deanna said calmly, "if you would escort me to sickbay now? Mr. Carlisle, the bridge is yours -- contact me when the admiral hails us."

Everyone was on their feet, and talking at once. Mengis was at her side in an instant. She walked out calmly with him.

No one knew what to say. Slowly, they left the room, returned to their posts, and Ward paged Mendez to the bridge to cover ops. He went to the center chair and stopped short. Ben, on his way to his own chair, followed Ward's gaze. They exchanged shocked glances.

"I wonder how long she's been in labor?" Ward muttered, before paging for someone to clean up. "You were sitting next to her -- didn't you notice?"

"She didn't make a sound. She hardly moved. Um. . . . I thought, when it happened, that there would be more. . . ."

"Sometimes. Not always. When Cecily's water broke she didn't realize it until she felt a trickle down her leg. There isn't much here, it must have been only -- Counselor, are you all right?"

"Fine," Ben exclaimed, reeling toward the back of the bridge and hoping no one was in the head. Clinically, he knew that some men experienced a reaction like this to childbirth -- he knew that reactions could be as varied as individuals. But who would expect it to happen to him? She wasn't his wife.

The thought of her sitting there for hours saying and doing nothing, while he sat there unknowing, and the sight of the actual fluid -- and thinking of it again made him stagger.

At least he made it inside the head with the door shut.

Afterward, he leaned over the sink for a long time, focusing on breathing normally and thinking of returning to private practice back home, where women went to the hospital when their water broke.

~^~^~^~^~^~

Natalia ran down corridors, heedless of anyone careless enough to get in her way. A small crowd had gathered outside the captain's quarters. She pushed through, almost crawling on people, and Lana'hai let her in the door. Her first officer had paged for her to come, she'd be there. After Deanna had left with the doctor Natalia had spent the last two hours picking her nails and trying to concentrate on the boring job of minding the helm while the ship was at full stop.

Guinan stood in the main room waiting for her. She glanced at the nursery door without a word. Holding her breath, Natalia went to peer inside.

Deanna was sitting in the rocking chair the captain had made. "Come in, Nat," she murmured. Natalia did so, leaning to look. Yves had the wrinkly red-faced little-old-man look, but unlike her cousin's baby, he didn't have the odd-shaped skull.

"Um. . . ."

"Surgery," Deanna said, losing a little of the serenity in her face as she looked up from the infant in her arms. "He doesn't look like other newborns because he wasn't subjected to labor."

"I thought. . . ." Natalia regretted it at once. Deanna looked at her son again, saddened.

"The important thing is that he's healthy, and safe. At the moment that's all that matters to me."

Nat knew -- Deanna had told her before -- that she'd wanted a natural birth, and that the captain had intended to be there. Some sort of Betazoid bonding ritual was supposed to happen. Her chest ached with sympathy for them. This whole stupid situation was so unfair.

"I'm going to ask a favor of you, Natalia. I want you to do it without argument. I need you to pilot the gig."

"The gig? What about -- "

"It's been two hours, and we haven't heard from the admiral yet. But I don't care any more what she says. Regardless of what she tells me, I'm going back into the Briar Patch. I want you to take the gig, with all the civilian residents and children, and head for the nearest starbase. And when you get there, I want you to wait a couple of weeks and pay attention to a specific frequency I'll have deLio arrange in the gig's system. If you hear nothing from me I want you to take Yves to Earth and find Marie Picard, in Labarre. I want you to ask her to raise him there."

"But -- what about -- he wouldn't want you to -- "

"This isn't about him, Nat." Deanna looked up at her again. Her face gleamed wetly, but her eyes were determined. "My son deserves both his parents. I will do everything in my power to see that he has them. His father is coming back alive, if there's anything I can do about it."

She stood slowly, laid the bundle in Natalia's arms, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Back in uniform already -- she had diminished in size considerably but still looked a few months' pregnant. Natalia stared at the baby, so slight a weight in her arms, and the tiny lips parted in a yawn. He opened his eyes -- pale gray. The color most newborn human eyes were.

"I want you to wait until the ship has re-entered the Briar Patch then transmit a message for me. It's private, and it's in code. It will be in the gig's system already; you'll see it on the comm panel when you board. Guinan will go with you and take care of Yves while you're flying the ship."

"Bridge to Commander Troi," Carlisle announced. "Incoming transmission from the admiral."

"I'll be right there, Ward. Troi out." Deanna took Yves back and held him close, kissing him repeatedly. "Come on, Nat. We have a meeting and then you're on your way. The gig will be ready by the time we're done."

Natalia followed in a fog. In the main room, Deanna handed off the baby to Guinan. The crowd outside gave, then dissipated in their wake after a snapped order from Deanna. For the first time in months, Deanna seemed light on her feet. Must be stimulants. Even though they must've beamed the baby out, all the stress must be wearing her down, and Natalia knew she missed the captain.

By the time the lift reached the bridge, the sadness was gone. Commander Troi was back. Natalia felt a bit of pity for the admiral. The first officer's stony expression, redoubled by the energy she seemed to have gained, had been joined by angry glints in her jet-black eyes.

Nat took her seat quickly, barely in time. The screen flicked to life, and again, the admiral gazed out upon the senior officers of the *Enterprise.* This time, she looked even angrier.

"Commander, I am transmitting for your later review the details of the orders I am about to issue, in the interests of saving time. In brief -- you will return to the Ba'ku planet, take Admiral Dougherty and his accomplices into custody, and render assistance as you deem fit to the Ba'ku within the confines of regulations. Take every precaution in countering the effects of the metaphasic radiation your logs noted, and get all Starfleet personnel out of the Briar Patch as soon as is feasible. You are authorized to replay this order to any officer who questions your authority to carry them out."

All looked to Deanna, most of them with relief in their faces, but she stood at the head of the table with her hands behind her back, unsurprised and still angry. "Do the details include any explanation I could give to hundreds of officers who were frightened to near-panic by the thought of an admiral who -- "

"Dougherty was not, nor has he ever been, ordered to sector four four one." Nechayev's ice-blue eyes glittered as angrily as Deanna's black ones. "He was, in fact, supposed to be a part of a delegation sent to negotiate with the Randra Alliance."

"Where the Ba'ku were from," Natalia blurted. She whirled, eyes wide, her cheeks aflame.

"So your data-gathering would indicate," the admiral said as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "The Federation does not involve itself in the civil affairs of non-Federation worlds without a request for mediation. I have spoken with Admiral Harris. Pertinent details of that conversation are, as I said, being transmitted to you as we speak."

"Before we leave, I am putting all civilians and children on the captain's yacht, bound for a starbase. We have reason to believe that children may be the first to suffer the effects of the radiation."

Natalia glanced back and forth several times in the moment of silence that followed. The admiral softened somewhat. "Including your own? I see that you have had the child since our last conversation."

"Including my own." The closed tone forbade further discussion.

"Support is on its way. The *Eureka* and the *Caiaphus* have been dispatched -- unfortunately they will not be there for another day. I expect a full report when this is over. Good luck, Commander. Nechayev, out."

Ward and Ben leaped from their seats. deLio merely stood, as did Geordi. Deanna nodded to Natalia. "On your way, Lieutenant."

Heart in her mouth, Natalia wished there were something she could say, anything, to the Commander, a message to the captain, anything. She hesitated en route to the door, met Deanna's eyes, then nodded and hurried out. It was all she could do not to cry in the lift. Deanna had mirrored her emotions in her eyes, and given her a tight smile. The look said more than words could have. She understood.

Natalia made it to the gig on autopilot and went forward through the main cabin, which was full of people she didn't look at holding children she heard but didn't see. "Better settle in," she said in passing. In the pilot's compartment she found Lana'hai. Of course. He had a child, too, and since Lana'hest had needs only his parent could meet, Deanna had assigned him to be the other officer on deck.

"Pre-flight checks?"

"Done," the Sulamid said.

Natalia ran through the sequence in her head, glancing at systems to visually double-check, and toggled the docking clamps. A pneumatic whoosh and a thump, and the vessel moved slightly. They were adrift. Using maneuvering jets only, she spun them about and away from *Enterprise.*

The flagship. With the Briar Patch in the background, her running lights winking in tandem, and the glow of the nacelles, she looked beautiful. Like home.

They waited until the ship began a slow, graceful turn, flashing her belly in a half-roll, and went to half-impulse re-entering the swirls of red and ochre dust. Natalia glanced around and saw the message on the comm panel, and hit the send icon. The indicator blinked and vanished. Whoever the recipient was, they'd get the message shortly.

"Warp engines online?"

"Affirmative."

"Away we go," Natalia muttered. "Course laid in for the nearest starbase. Warp two. The Baby Bird is off and running. Stork duty."

"What is a stork?" Lana'hai asked.

Well, at least explaining it would keep her mind off things.

~@~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 15

They materialized on the outskirts of the village, and Will immediately waved around the specially-rigged tricorder. The away team, intended to confront the Ba'ku again to determine whether or not they really were under duress, had been selected carefully for the task.

Or so Jean-Luc wanted to think. Really, Beverly had insisted on coming herself rather than sending one of her staff. Ro was a given because of the Ba'ku. Will would have just paced holes in the carpet, Tom claimed, and this would give him something to make him feel useful. And Tom himself claimed captain's prerogative -- his ship, his CMO, and he wanted answers, dammit. Data had begun the first officer's rant and been vanquished by a look.

"No camouflage suits in this area," Will reported.

"No *anything* in this area," Tom exclaimed, propping his hands on his hips. The village stood empty. No children playing, no people walking. "Jean-Luc?"

Frowning, Jean-Luc glanced around at the ground. "They've migrated into the hills. Just as you thought they should, Ro. Look."

They followed the many footprints until they reached the spot where the trail left the broad footpath and disappeared in a grassy field. The field became rolling hills, which became mountains. Jean-Luc almost stepped on one of the yellow rodents. The creature, obviously frightened, clung to his pants. He flicked it away impatiently and watched it disappear into the grass.

"Now what?" Beverly asked, glancing at one face after the next. Then she made an 'oh no' face. "I shouldn't have asked, should I?"

"Oh, come on, you'll feel like a kid again in no time," Jean-Luc exclaimed, marching into the grass.

"From the mouth of the oldest teenager in the fleet," Tom said cheerily. "Just think, Verly, you'll have fewer gray hairs and firmer breasts in no time."

"Someone remind me why I put up with such insufferable commanding officers?" Beverly muttered.

"We're damn good-looking," Will exclaimed, grinning.

"One of us is, anyway," Tom said.

"Both of you, knock it off, or I'll send you to your rooms without supper," Jean-Luc announced. The younger captains had been at it since the meeting, in between all the serious business afoot.

Tom guffawed. "Hey, he's sounding like a -- sorry. Sore subject."

Jean-Luc stepped up the pace and tried to ignore the ache in his chest. Already missing hajira. Deanna was gone, and would be for hours. Tom had no idea how accurate his assessment really was.

"Can we at least call for security?" Beverly asked. "I know you didn't want to alarm the Ba'ku with a lot of armed officers, but I'd really like all of us to come back in one piece."

"I should probably check in and let Data know what's up, at the least." Tom tapped his badge, with no result. "Okay. . . . You try, Will."

Four attempts later, they stood in a circle looking at each other. Ro crossed her arms and chewed her lip, nodding. "Yeah, I can see this is going to be a great adventure," she said at last.

"You want to stay here in the village, no one's going to stop you," Jean-Luc said coolly, starting up the hill again. He regretted saying anything -- his tone said what his words didn't.

"Look, I was trying -- oh, what's the use. Tell your stupid lieutenant not to quit her day job to be a damn psychologist -- "

"WHAT!"

At his sudden vehemence, all four of his companions jumped back wide-eyed. He mastered himself slowly, stifling the spate of angry exclamations that had formed, dropping the hand he'd flung out with pointed finger at last. Jean-Luc glared at Ro -- what had Natalia been thinking?

"Hey, don't shout at *me,*" Ro said. "She's the one who seemed to think you felt some sort of responsibility for my delinquency. I figured, you think her feet don't touch the ground, maybe you -- "

"Shut up," he snapped, marching through the grass. "I don't give a damn about your opinion, or hers! I wish people would stop talking about me behind my back!"

"Is it true?" Ro exclaimed. "Did you feel responsible? Because you took a chance on me and you were wrong? Did you think you'd handed over a highly-trained operative to the Maquis on a platter, and inadvertently given a bunch of terrorists -- "

He spun and glared at her, barely keeping himself from doing more than that. Damned hormones. "You think that, do you? Beverly, I hope you're taking notes. Because the next time you accuse me of being too hard on Deanna, I'm going to remind you of this -- you see what happens when I *do* make exceptions? I can't win -- damned if I do, damned if I don't, I'm not twisting anyone's arm to do anything and the minute someone fouls up their own career it's my fault!"

With a dismissive gesture he stormed up the hill, not caring if they followed.

~^~^~^~^~

Ben found himself in the ready room four hours after the ship had re-entered the Briar Patch. "Commander?" he said, taking a seat.

"I'd like your impression of the crew's morale." Deanna leaned back in the captain's chair.

"Well. . . I've been making myself available as I could. I walked around for a while. Seems everyone's in a rather subdued frame of mind. Word travels fast when things start to happen." He paused, but there was no easy way to approach it. "I gather that the majority are feeling sympathetic pain for your situation, more than anything else. Everyone has been anticipating the baby's birth. Having the surgery and sending him off the ship underscored the seriousness of what's going on. They know you wouldn't do that if. . . . I'm sorry, Commander." Ben covered his mouth and looked at the floor.

"I have no time for sympathy," she said quietly. Surprising that the tears didn't affect her voice. "There will be time for that later."

"Why are you doing this?" Ben looked up again, meeting those sad, soulful eyes. "Really. I'm not asking officially, I'd just like to know -- deep down inside, what's motivating you to this? You would have gone back whether Nechayev told you to or not -- the gig was ready before the meeting. I would think you would stay with your son. I think the captain would want you to."

"You've served directly with Captain Picard, on his bridge, for how long?"

"You know that -- just over ten months. Since you became first officer."

"I am one of his officers. He would sacrifice his career, his life, for mine. I owe him my life, many times over. That is why I would have gone, orders or no orders, relationship or no relationship. He would do the same for me."

Ben studied her face and knew this was truth. "He ordered you to stay on the edge of the Briar Patch."

Her eyes burned for a moment, then a canny smile appeared, in spite of the tears still rolling down her face. "If I transmit the orders there is a chance of interception -- tipping off the admiral that he is about to be arrested may result in hostilities that could be avoided."

"Then what did we tell *Venture*?" He knew a message had been sent.

"That we had contacted Command -- "

The ship rocked slightly. Red alert klaxons went off. Deanna rushed for the door, Ben close behind, and the deck shuddered under their feet as they reached their seats.

"Six ships," deLio exclaimed. "They are firing torpedos. Phasers would be inadvisable -- igniting the metreon gas would result in destruction of all ships in the area, including ourselves."

"Jamramis, find us a hiding place in the Briar Patch," Deanna called. "Turn off the klaxons!"

"Why'd they let us out, but not in?" Ben asked.

"I'd guess that returning implies we present a danger to their operation. They may also have intercepted our message, and assumed that cryptic equals dangerous to their interests. deLio, hail *Venture.*"

A few moments passed. "No response. And one of the buoys is not relaying the transponder signature -- we have lost our communications network."

"Damn," Deanna said softly, marking the first time Ben had heard her swear.

~^~^~^~^~

Ro knew the metaphasic radiation had to be affecting them. How else could they be keeping up this pace? Her feet, in the new boots, were hurting like hell.

They had reached the tops of the hills and were now following the scant indications of footprints up a steep canyon. Already, the kelbonite was interfering. Riker's tricorder had stopped working. Glendenning had continued to attempt contact with the ship and failed.

The sun setting didn't seem to deter the captains, either. Dusk fell and darkness wasn't far behind as they climbed a dry streambed. Riker and Glendenning teased each other in between serious commentary that included Picard.

Picard didn't look at Ro, or speak to her. Or about her. The others seemed uncertain of what to make of it, but kept glancing at her almost apologetically, which only made her want to snap at them. She felt mildly guilty -- what she'd said hadn't come out quite the way she planned, and letting her temper get the better of her and mentioning Greenman had been her biggest error. She watched him, hoping for some signal that would allow her to re-open the conversation with less hostility this time around. Every so often he checked a small device he kept tucked in the bottom of his phaser holster -- a round, silver item on a chain. Ro wondered what it was.

Crusher seemed to be reacting to the radiation with giddiness. "I wonder if we're getting higher in altitude. There doesn't seem to be much oxygen -- do you feel lightheaded?"

"We're not so high that -- look, there in the shadows, is that a cave?" Tom hurried forward, scrambling over a few large rocks and ducking under tree branches, gesturing with his right hand as if tossing something. A clink caught Ro's attention -- she glanced around but saw nothing.

They had to duck to get inside, but once in, they found they could stand. "Too bad we didn't bring hand lights," Picard said as they explored in what was left of the light from outside.

"I don't think we'll need lights," Riker said from a corner a few moments later. Something about his tone drew the rest of them over for a look.

Through a narrow opening, they could see an obviously-artificial tunnel, complete with pale yellow lights at regular intervals down the middle of the ceiling.

"Shit," Tom blurted. "Anti-technology, my gramma's baggy drawers."

"Unless this is someone other than the Ba'ku. Deanna sensed more people, and familiar ones -- we've never come across the Ba'ku before." Picard drew his phaser and edged through the opening.

The tunnels seemed endless. They hiked for a while and saw no doors, nor any sign of life. "You'd think they would have some transportation to speed things up," Riker said, his words echoing in the close space.

Picard slowed and looked anew at the walls. He leaned and touched the sandy-brown stone surface, then walked slowly, tracing it with his fingertips. Another two dozen paces further and he began feeling around in one spot. His hand seemed to sink into the wall.

"Holoprojection -- how did you know?" Beverly exclaimed.

"Lucky guess. I can't open it. Some sort of panel -- if there's a required sequence of key presses I couldn't see to begin guessing at it. Blasting our way in would seem hostile -- if this is a Ba'ku installation, we should find another way if possible."

They moved on, finding the hidden panels at regular intervals. "Wonder how far we've walked?" Glendenning said at last, yawning. "I feel a bit tired."

Beverly had her medscanner out in a flash. "Dr. Mengis said there was an initial adjustment -- it appears you've made it. But the radiation seems to have taken you a different direction, the readings on the output of the pituitary and thalamus are different, and the pineal -- "

"Bottom line, Dr. Terminology?"

"You're aging. That's highly inaccurate, but it's the only way I can boil it down to a single label -- your metabolism is changing in a way consistent with a human male approaching old age." She turned around and aimed the scanner at Ro. "And still, Ro is fine. Will appears to have made the adjustment as well -- as you can see from the retreat of the gray in his beard, he's going the other direction."

"What about yourself?" Picard asked.

She ran the scan, chewing her lip. "I suppose I should be grateful -- oh, shit! Oh! SHIT!" Jamming the tricorder and scanner in the pouch hanging at her hip, she stormed away, her angry exclamations ringing in the narrow corridor. "I do not BELIEVE this! It's supposed to MAKE me sterile!"

"Hey, hang on -- what are you implying?" Tom exclaimed.

"I *was* menopausal, now I'm ovulating!"

Ro watched the reactions of the three men with amusement. Will clapped a hand to his forehead, stared at the ceiling, and tried mightily not to laugh. Picard turned around and occupied himself with finding another hidden panel to hide his reaction, and Tom simply froze, staring at the doctor's retreating back for a moment before starting to swear in Klingon.

Ro followed along as she had been doing, not saying a word and keeping at least two of the others between her and Picard. After a while, when Beverly showed no sign of rejoining the group and continued to march along ahead of them, Tom went after her. Riker glanced dubiously at Ro, his eyes slid to Picard as the other captain tried yet another door, and he followed Tom, somehow splitting the difference and maintaining distance between the couple in front and the two behind him.

Picard straightened, turned around, noticed the change, and let his shoulders sag. "Opportunity bludgeons," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry. I'm not good at this sort of thing."

"If by that you mean personal confrontations, neither am I. Because it is that, isn't it?" He smirked at it, raising his eyebrows. "Although I'm wondering now if either Nat's or Beverly's analysis has anything to do with it, there does seem to be some anger on both sides. Unless you're only angry because you actually feel something else you'd rather not articulate, and I suppose it's possible I'm doing the same. I'll tell you what, let's bypass all the bloody head games -- I'll forgive you for running off with the Maquis if you'll forgive me for misunderstanding what you were trying to tell me at the rendezvous in the bar before you did it, and we'll call everything even."

Ro shut her mouth as it fell open, probably doing a pretty good imitation of a fish. "Um. . . what was I trying to tell you?"

"What were you trying to -- hell, never mind. We don't have time for this. Truce?"

"Sure. I guess. So they both tried to get at you about feeling guilty about my defection to the Maquis?"

"Both. . . no. Beverly said I took it personally. Natalia asked a simple question and made a deduction from the answer."

"What does Deanna have to say about how you feel about me?"

He studied her, lips pressed together in a straight line, then snorted. "Nothing."

"Nothing? Little miss nosy doesn't have a thing to say, huh?"

Anger flared briefly in his eyes. "She's never been nosy. Counseling was her duty, while you were aboard. She may have her degree and she may use what she knows about psychology to her advantage in her current duties, but she's not a counselor any more."

"Well, she still doesn't like me. Never has."

A whimsical twist of his lips surprised her. "Have you ever given her a reason to? Deanna understands your aversion to counselors and analysis. She doesn't hold it against you."

"Like I care if she does," Ro blurted. "Wait -- I thought you said she didn't say anything to you about me."

"In that one area, she doesn't have to say a word. I know she knows exactly how you feel about her, and always has."

"What about shields and all that telepathic discipline stuff she's supposed to have?"

"She's not a telepath." He walked after the others, who had long since disappeared around the curve of the corridor. Ro came alongside and matched his stride.

"That means she's allowed to sneak peeks at how I feel?"

"No, she doesn't have to -- she doesn't have to make any effort. The emotions are there, we emanate them and she senses them, like we can hear or see. She tunes most of it out -- ignores it."

"I don't like that idea, that anything -- and you're comfortable enough with it to marry her," Ro said, before she could catch herself. "Damn. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Laughter from Will got their attention. "Something tells me we're all letting ourselves get carried away," Picard muttered. "We'd better get down to business."

His posture stiffened. He marched along quicker, and Ro followed, trying not to smile too much. He caught her anyway and halted again, eyeing her from the corner of his eye.

"I suppose you think I'm softer than I was before," he murmured.

"You're married, having children. . . ." She frowned. "Why aren't you an admiral by now?"

He hesitated, then turned his head with raised brow. "I'm not soft."

"Enough," she added.

Picard studied her through his eyelashes. "You and Nat don't get along because you're too much alike."

"What? Never!" she blurted. "That little suck-up isn't -- what's so funny?"

He just laughed, and led her down the corridor, jogging a little to catch up with the others.

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 15

Jean-Luc checked his compass again. When he stopped walking, the others hesitated, then came back to stand around him.

"We've walked in a circle," he said.

"So that little anachronism did come in handy." Tom glanced around. "Corridors do look the same, don't they? But a circle?"

"Magnetic north isn't negotiable, and kelbonite doesn't interfere with magnetism."

"Let's start trying doors again, then." Tom tracked down one of them and made blind guesses at the keypad. So did Will.

Ro helped, going ahead of them around the bend of the corridor. They made very slow progress with no success. Tom straightened at last, glancing back and forth and stretching his arms. He seemed to see something down the corridor; Jean-Luc went rigid at his alert posture. Then Ro came back, shrugging and shaking her head, explaining it. She crossed her arms and looked at them, frowning slightly.

"I've had it. We're getting in one of these doors." Jean-Luc set his phaser on medium stun, found a panel hidden in the wall, and stepped back. He kept a continuous beam on it until something cracked, sparked, and the hologram disappeared.

"Hope this isn't a closet," Will said.

"I hope it is," Beverly muttered.

The doors matched the rock, but were made of something that could have been the same alloy used aboard Federation vessels. It felt the same under Jean-Luc's fingers. He crouched, studying the control panel he'd just destroyed. Poking aside hot elements with the nose of the phaser, he was about to make some guesses as to how to manipulate the solid-state circuitry when the door opened.

He scrambled backward. A tall creature, not Ba'ku or Son'a, stood there. Remembering the data files on the Son'a, he guessed it was a Tarlac. It raised the weapon it held casually, and gestured at Jean-Luc's.

Tom moved. The Tarlac was on the floor, and the Tarlac's weapon dangled from Tom's fingers.

That was Jean-Luc's perception of the transaction, anyway. His brain took more time to sort it out than it took the other captain to do it. The lightening move across the meter or so between them, Tom grabbing for the creature's head, the quick twist and the snap of bone, the grab for the weapon -- something told Jean-Luc that the holodecks on *Venture* saw a lot of a particular sort of program.

Tom tossed the weapon to Ro and went in the door. Glancing at his companions, Jean-Luc followed, smiling.

"What are you laughing about, old man?" Tom asked after a glance over his shoulder.

"Just remembering the last time someone moved that fast in a doorway, when an alien appeared suddenly."

"Is this going to be another Deanna story?" Beverly asked. She was the first to follow Jean-Luc.

"I'm not that bad, am I?"

"Insufferable," Will exclaimed. "I'd start matching you story for story but Rachel hasn't been in that many scuffles yet."

"And besides, I'd have to start telling Data stories, and work backward to ones about you."

Tom whirled with a frustrated grunt. "You people don't believe in stealth, do you?"

Jean-Luc pressed his lips together and stared him down. Tom started forward again, weapon at the ready.

They made their slow way through the caverns, Tom scouting ahead around corners and trying the sealed doors they came across. The main corridor took a few turns, and finally ended in a large round portal that looked like it might iris open if one knew the code to key in. Tom studied the panel, shrugged, and began tapping keys. Jean-Luc followed the movements as much as he could; Tom was trying different combinations, all right. Tom glanced up at him and met his gaze for long moments, hand hovering over the pad, and then he flexed his fingers as if to stretch muscles, making a sign Jean-Luc recognized from a mission in Romulan space prior to the non-aggression pact.

He'd known Tom must have been in special ops from a prior usage of the hand signals, so it wasn't a complete surprise. The sign itself, however -- Tom had signed for him to watch his back. The sober blue eyes held his for a moment longer, then he went back to keying combinations.

Jean-Luc turned and leaned against the wall with crossed arms, glancing at their three companions casually. He met Will's gaze briefly, flicked his eyes to Ro, then back. Will looked startled for a few seconds. Rubbing his beard, he tugged at Beverly's sleeve in passing. She glanced askance at him, noted his expression, and the two of them paced back down the corridor as if bored and restless.

"Any time now, Glendenning," Jean-Luc said casually.

"Right. You try this, then." Tom backed away, hands out.

Jean-Luc backed away from the door and aimed his phaser.

"Captain," Ro said.

With one smooth swing of his arm, Jean-Luc re-oriented the phaser and fired.

~^~^~^~^~^~

"They've figured it out!" Mendez cried. "Two ships, on an attack vector!"

The images of two other Sovereign-class vessels projected against the gasses of the Briar Patch had worked for a while. Batris' suggestion of creating sensor ghosts and making the Son'a ships think there were several ships had stopped the barrage. Ben glanced nervously at Commander Troi, who paced the bridge slowly.

"Shields up. Hail them," she ordered, for the sixth time. They never responded to hails. She kept trying.

They had destroyed two of the original six ships. Ben had noticed Deanna wincing as each one burst apart. The other four had continued the pursuit with weapons firing, until the *Enterprise* dodged into another cloud of metreon gas and came out the other side with an apparent escort of two sister ships. The four Son'a vessels had taken up a parallel course, like an escort, until they had almost reached the Ba'ku system.

They were within half an hour of their destination. Ben's hands twitched -- if only he had his attack sled, he could have done something. If only attack sleds existed outside Redman's folly.

"Four more ships between us and the planet," deLio reported.

"Change course, bearing 342 mark 34. Full impulse."

Ensign Jamramis hesitated, but obeyed. From the back of the bridge, Geordi said, "We're going to burn our engines out -- "

"Noted. deLio, do we have sensor readings of the planet yet? Has *Venture* answered our hails?"

"Ships moving in pursuit. The *Lexington* has joined them. We are not yet close enough for readings of the planet. *Venture* has not responded. *Lexington* is firing on us."

"The *Lexington!*" Deanna whirled, visibly shocked, in the first display of real emotion since her tears in the ready room hours before. She reddened at once, and shot a blistering stream of instructions at the helm, mostly coordinates and speeds, and ordered Geordi to prepare the contingency plans discussed as quickly as possible. The engineer responded with a crisp 'aye' and hurried into a lift.

Ben watched as the red alert lamps blinked silent semaphore, as the *Enterprise* flew into battle, as Deanna Troi stood with clenched fists and snapped orders at the crew. He paid closer attention to deLio's reports than the viewscreen or the orders given. The picture the L'norim painted of the ongoing conflict took shape. Damage reports ensued, damage was inflicted, several of the Son'a vessels were destroyed, and several more arrived.

The bridge became ordered chaos. And in the middle of it all, a message from *Venture* came through at last. deLio put it on speakers without questioning first.

"*Venture* to *Enterprise* -- can you hear us?"

"Yes, Data," Deanna exclaimed over the damage report Ward was giving. "The order is given! deLio, transmit the message from Nechayev, on all Federation frequencies. What's going on, Data? Where is the captain?"

"Captain Picard beamed down along with Captains Glendenning and Riker seven hours ago, intending to speak to the Ba'ku. I have not heard from them and have had no success contacting them, and the security team I sent down is still looking for them."

Deanna's clenched fists tightened. "Help us draw these ships away from the planet along the heading 537 mark 12. Reinforcements are on the way as we speak, but let's see if we can't move the battle closer to them. We're transmitting the modifications Geordi made to the engines to gain more speed and the details of the admiral's orders -- I suggest you uplink them directly into your neural net upon receipt, for your reference. Ward, scan *Lexington* for any human life signs."

A pause, and Ward came back with, "Six. There are a total of twenty-seven humanoid life signs aboard, most of which are unidentifiable."

"They've put the rest of the crew off the ship," Deanna exclaimed. She didn't have to add 'or killed them' -- that option showed in the startled trepidation in Ward's eyes, and in Jamramis' when the ensign looked over his shoulder.

"I shall hope that is the case," Data said over subspace. "I have received the data you transmitted. Then the proximity of the Ba'ku home world to the Randra Alliance was not likely coincidence."

"No, I'm afraid not."

deLio cut in. "The *Renton* is requesting -- "

"Send them our list of training maneuvers -- we'll do this by the numbers. Tell Captain Ventana which frequency we're on."

"Direct hit," deLio exclaimed. "Aft primary hull, decks twenty and twenty-one being evacuated. Seventeen Son'a ships and the *Lexington* on intercept and closing."

"Data, we can do this," Deanna said. "Maneuver six."

"An excellent idea. Executing."

"Jamramis, you remember Data's list?"

"Nat uses them all the time in her simulations."

"Let's get to work then. Execute maneuver six."

~^~^~^~^~

Natalia dropped to impulse and approached, summoned the base control, and received docking instructions. She circled the base, heart heavy in her chest. The commander could be dead now. The captain might be dead. The Son'a ships might have attacked, and she wouldn't know for two weeks. The *Enterprise* was her home.

The viewscreen blurred. Blinking furiously, she piloted the gig under the bow of an Akira-class, apparently the only ship of the line currently in orbit. While she eased in at half impulse, the comm panel beeped.

"*Calypso* here."

"This is Captain Shelby of the *Potemkin* -- aren't you the yacht from the *Enterprise*? Is the captain aboard?"

Natalia raised an eyebrow, then remembered -- Shelby had been at the wedding. Her ship was part of the second fleet, along with *Enterprise* and *Venture*, and thus assigned to this general region of space. "No, the captain is -- I'm sorry, Captain, but I can't tell you. I don't know if it's a classified mission or not. I'm just following orders."

"What's your orders, then?"

"I'm removing the civilian population to the safety of starbase, as per Commander Troi's orders."

A brief pause. "Battle?"

"Not when I left, no."

"Odds?"

"I couldn't say. I'm just supposed to follow orders, sir." Natalia let her jaw hang a moment, then smiled -- the captain was fishing, she was a friend of the Picards' and had been at Wolf, too, she had been aboard the *Enterprise* during the talks for the Romulan non-aggression pact and been friendly with the captain and counselor. An Akira-class could make the trip back to the patch at warp nine in a fraction of the time it'd taken the gig at warp two. And just why hadn't the admiral ordered the ship in to support the *Enterprise* and *Venture*?

"I mean, it's really not my place to mention all those ships. I'm supposed to babysit the captain's son and make sure everyone else is safe on the starbase. That's all."

Another, longer pause. "So when was he born?"

"About six hours ago."

A muffled snort. "Who is this?"

"Lieutenant Natalia Greenman, sir."

"Ah. So, Lieutenant -- you've just come in out of the hinterlands? I'm supposed to field test some prototypes. You wouldn't happen to have any suggestions of where I could find a nice, remote sector with some interesting spatial phenomena and a few other such obstacles?"

Oh. That might be why the admiral hadn't ordered Shelby out -- maybe *Potemkin* had been given discretionary leeway and their location didn't appear in the system on purpose. Prototypes of a new weapon, probably. Natalia felt mildly sick to her stomach. New weapons for new wars. She hadn't been in a war, not even a real battle yet, and already the thought terrified her. Listening to the stories of the experienced officers on the ship was different than hearing the recruitment PR.

"Captain, can I put you on mute for a moment? Dockyard is calling."

"Sure, I'll be here."

She hit the mute, glanced at Lana'hai, then turned -- but Guinan already stood in the cabin door with Yves in her arms. Guinan smiled faintly.

"Thinking of ignoring orders, are we?"

"Guinan -- " Natalia's words caught in her throat. "Would it be worse to disobey orders they expect me to carry out, or to sit by and see the worst happen?"

Guinan lost the smile and looked down at Yves. "What does your heart say, Nat?"

"Can you take him to Earth, if I go?"

"I'll do whatever I can to help. I know," she said slowly, giving each word weight, "that this is very important to you."

"Thanks, Guinan." Natalia hit the mute again. "Captain, after I dock the yacht, can I come take a tour of the *Potemkin*?"

"Don't see why not. Come on over, Greenman, and we'll talk. And if you don't mind, can I get a peek at the kid?"

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 16

Ro fell, the weapon she'd aimed at him clattering across the floor. She groaned and writhed, eyes rolling wildly.

"She caught it in the wrong hand," Tom said. "Got too quiet after she disappeared around that corner. I thought I heard a door open and close, too."

Beverly had the tricorder out again already. "She reads as humanoid, but not Bajoran."

"So are we dealing with a Founder, a Vendorian, or one of the other two known shape-shifting sorts? And why do I get the feeling we've really been rats in a big maze?" Tom gestured at the ceiling. "They could have this place hard-wired, you know. They could be watching us."

Jean-Luc couldn't keep a sneer from forming. "A gigantic test. And the Ba'ku must be part of it -- " He noticed that 'Ro' had stopped convulsing. "Is that what this is? A test?"

A smile, completely un-Ro, grew on the familiar face. "You are an unexpectedly-delightful factor in the equation, Jean-Luc Picard. I'm so glad we thought to include you in the game."

It shook him -- it sounded like Ro, and the words had so many unpleasant connotations. "Include me?"

"What better way to entice Captain Picard into the game than put his friend in peril and tell him to leave?"

Will's eyes blazed. "You put *my crew* at risk just to bait -- wait a minute. Dougherty never made it to my ship, did he? He and his whole staff are nothing more than shape-shifters playing parts!"

Ro sat up slowly. "The Maquis were an interesting factor as well. Such a fascinating group -- so easy to mimic. Too bad they resisted so much. It would have been nice to keep them around for further study."

"You're lying," Beverly said. Jean-Luc and Tom shot her warning looks, which silenced her before she gave away anything. The shape-shifter was obviously baiting them. Beverly had been thorough, and Mengis would have caught anything out of the ordinary. The Maquis were real. Jean-Luc preferred that to the alternative -- otherwise Data would have three shape-shifters aboard *Venture* and know nothing about it.

This was a headache in the making. Now he would be going back and forth between doubt and certainty, and wouldn't be able to concentrate so well on the task at hand. He found himself wishing for the simplicity of a diplomatic mission. He barely had time to think that thought before the door behind him opened. Turning, he found he could no longer breathe.

Not even Tom could disarm *that* many armed Tarlac.

A flash wiped out the scene. Jean-Luc came around slowly, the awareness that he was being lifted bodily the first thing he knew. As he regained control of himself he fought against it and stood on his own two feet. His vision blurred, he stumbled in the direction he was shoved, bumping into Tom. His body felt like someone had thrown him through a wall, and a headache stabbed through the back of his skull. Probably smarting from falling and striking his head on the stone floor.

"Hate being stunned," Tom muttered as they leaned on each other, swaying like a pair of drunks. They were shoved apart and the Tarlac herded them down the corridor, after Beverly and Will, who also stumbled lethargically.

~^~^~^~^~

Ben pried his fingers from the arms of his chair for the tenth time. The bridge was quiet, as it had been a number of times over the past six hours, as the two Sovereign-class ships played games with the Son'a vessels. At the moment, they were in the hiding part of 'hide and seek.'

"Commander, are we close to where we ought to be?"

Deanna glanced at him. She seemed completely at ease in the captain's place. Ward smiled over her shoulder from the first officer's chair. "Nervous, Ben?" he asked.

"I stopped being nervous four hours ago. Now I'm just plain exhausted, with a side order of terrified."

Said with a straight face, it became a tension reliever for the crew, as they chuckled at him for it. The laughter died the instant deLio spoke.

"Sir, we are being hailed on a secure channel -- by the *Potemkin.* Still too much interference and distance for visual."

Deanna's jaw dropped. All kinds of firsts going on, Ben thought. Leaning, she looked up at the security chief as if trying to sense if he were joking. "Let's have it."

The familiar crackling of Briar Patch communications ensued. "Commander Troi, I presume?"

"Captain -- what are you doing here?"

"Testing my new attack sleds. I suggested them, Utopia let me help design them, and they let me test them. I was looking for a remote place to do it in relative secrecy, and a little bird told me I might even be able to go with live weapons, if I brought them here."

"Attack sleds?" Ben blurted. He almost laughed at himself -- he was as bad as Natalia, blurting things out of turn! "Like in Redman's Folly?"

"Oh, that," Shelby said, displeased. "Commander Redman let one of the lieutenants keep a copy of the holo-prototype, and the guy turned it into a game. At least no one's made the connection yet -- damn thing spread like wildfire thanks to everyone copying and re-copying it. On the up side, your lieutenant's pretty damn good at it. We put her in harness -- got a dozen sleds out chasing down one of your antagonists. And we ran into some other friends of yours on the way in, so we decided to show up to the party together. It's a good thing -- seems *Venture* was a little overwhelmed for a bit there. You hiding in one of these clouds?"

"Ensign, take us out of here," Deanna said. "Time to rejoin the battle."

As the ship moved out of the dense, roiling brown cloud, the panorama before them revealed itself -- and what a change had occurred during their twenty minutes in hiding and frantic repairing! Tiny flares of impulse engines surrounded a Son'a vessel, shooting red darts at it, and smoke belched from one engine. Suddenly all the sleds veered off sharply and a torpedo came from overhead, blowing the ship apart. A Klingon bird of prey made a victory roll through the debris.

"Tune in to the same frequency and listen, Commander. I'll just be off now -- got a red alert going. Shelby out."

Another Son'a ship flew across at a diagonal angle, pursued by yet another Klingon ship. "deLio. . . ."

"Frequencies isolated. We have battle chatter, Commander."

The controlled chaos of the shared comm channels filled the bridge. Shouts in Klingon, the sled pilots' efforts at coordinating with each other, the orders of Shelby, Data, and the Klingon commander vied with each other for bandwidth.

Two more Son'a ships flew past, firing torpedos from aft tubes at a bird of prey, and one turned into a fireball even as Deanna gave the order to fire and deLio struck the second with one of the torpedoes they had been rationing. Raucous laughter, obviously from a Klingon, drowned out all other chatter for a moment.

To Ben's surprise, Deanna jumped up and thrust a fist into the air, and bellowed in perfect Klingon, "tlhIngan maH! Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!"

"A good day to die, indeed, Commander," the Klingon rumbled merrily.

Deanna sent the *Enterprise* veering after another of the ten Son'a vessels that had been harrying the two sister ships all the way from the planet, then glanced over her shoulder to grin at Ben.

"You're surprised?"

"Where did the *Klingons* come from?"

Deanna smiled. "I just called on an old friend and comrade at arms, Counselor. He taught me a lot about battle tactics." She turned back to the viewscreen, leaving Ben in such a state of shock that he couldn't have left the chair if he'd wanted to.

~^~^~^~^~

Ro woke to a pounding headache that became, for the space of about a thousand heartbeats, her entire universe. Eventually she managed a groan. Something soft touched her forehead.

The contact made her flinch bodily, which made her hurt all over, not just in her skull. She peered through throbbing eyelids at the face of a concerned woman. Anij.

Gentle hands helped her sit up. "I am sorry," Anij whispered. "I did ask you to leave the Briar Patch, when you first came."

"You could have said it was a warning," Ro croaked. "What's going on? Where are we? The captain -- where are they?"

"We are in one of the holding areas. I have not seen. . . but I have spoken too soon, I fear," Anij said wearily.

Ro forced her eyes open. The holding area was a large round room, about ten meters in diameter and twenty meters deep. A ledge ran around the cavern about halfway up. Obviously artificial, from the way the striated brown rock was shaved so smoothly. A round door at the far end of the room had opened, and through it came the three captains and the doctor. The four of them saw her as well, and Picard was the first to hurry forward, closely followed by Dr. Crusher.

"Are you all right?" Picard asked upon arrival, glancing around but still most interested in Ro.

"Trying to be. I feel like someone zapped me a good one."

"Zapped?" He echoed that a little too sharply.

"My body hurts all over, and I have a terrible headache."

Anij leaned her forward. "She has the mark on the back of her neck. It was one of their neural paralyzers."

"Neural paralyzers," Picard echoed, more faintly, as if remembering something that shocked him. He looked around again, wide-eyed and thoughtful. "Damn."

"You okay, sport?" Tom asked.

"Fine." Picard straightened his uniform, such a familiar gesture that Ro couldn't help smiling, and turned to the Ba'ku gathering near. "Anij, since we've come all this way to ask -- what is going on?"

"Yeah, I'd like to know that, too," Ro added. "As in, why you're being held prisoner, and why we were tossed in here too?"

Anij hugged herself and considered the question, close to tears. She spoke calmly enough, but with bowed head as if ashamed. "We came to this planet in hopes of leaving behind our former allies in the Randra Alliance. The Verethragna found us. They can mimic the shapes of others in form but not in substance. When they found that this world had become our prison, they did not tell us that -- they used it as a weapon. They claimed to want to settle here with us. They enticed some of our adult children with the technology we tried to abandon, drew them away from our world into space, and when they had degenerated to the point of no return, the Verethragna brought them back here as proof of what would happen if we tried to leave. Since that time, we have served as unwilling participants in the concealment of this underground facility. Our children, the Son'a, willingly work with them in return for the resources to further their own ends. They serve much the same function as we -- a buffer, a proxy, a means of not revealing their true identity to the peoples they wish to cheat or conquer."

Anij kneeled next to Ro and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I am so sorry we could not tell you. They always have us under observation."

"Why didn't they just kill us and get it over with? That's what they ended up doing with my fellow Maquis anyway," Ro exclaimed, wincing at the shooting pain she suffered for her attempt at volume.

"It's a game," Picard said, in that tight voice of disapproval. "Nothing but a test. If they really didn't want us to find the cavern, they would have taken steps to obliterate the trail. They're trying to learn how we react and interact. They replaced Dougherty and his people. They wanted to see how far a Starfleet crew would go before rebelling against orders that made no sense or lacked adequate justification."

"I tried to tell you to leave," Anij said.

"Yes. You even looked around --you know you're under surveillance and that they walk among you wearing camouflage suits."

"No. The Verethragna do not need camouflage suits." Anij turned to Sojef, who came alongside her.

"The Verethragna are our parents," he said.

Ro fought with her wobbly legs and finally gave up on trying to stand. "Parents? So you're shapeshifters, too?"

"No. We reached a stage in our technological advancement at which manipulations on a cellular level were possible," Sojef said, hands in his pockets. "When I say that they are our parents, I mean that they are of that generation -- there are very few of them left. Like the Son'a they are no longer capable of reproduction. They have transformed themselves from what they were, and in doing so have lost all compassion or loyalty to anyone. They take pleasure in manipulations and conquests."

"They didn't happen to have contact with the Founders, did they?" Will asked.

Anij and Sojef exchanged a sober look. "The Bajoran wormhole was well-traveled, a thousand years ago," Sojef said. "The Founders were distrustful of solids. But our parents were fascinated by the idea of shape-shifting, and their experiments proved fruitful. They went so far as to alter the outer cellular layers of their bodies -- they did not manage to alter their internal physiology, but they reached a point at which they can mimic any humanoid."

"As we found out when one of them mimicked Ro," Glendenning said.

Ro blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Part of their attempt to study us, no doubt," he continued. "They took you out and replaced you with a duplicate. She was pretty convincing but they didn't have the nuances quite right. The body language was slightly off."

"Body language. . . you're special ops, aren't you?" Ro frowned. "I've wondered about that."

"I was," Glendenning said, glancing at Crusher. She appeared flustered by the assumption. "Not anymore."

"Admiral Dougherty was getting orders from special ops -- is that why you were ordered here?" Will asked. "Does he know you're officially retired, or was he making assumptions?"

"I've thought about that -- Dougherty's not one of the operatives I know about, but that means nothing. We're largely unaware of each other's existence. Security and all that jazz. Question is, what's special ops got to do with any of this?" Tom gestured at Anij. "Now that we're talking about things openly, is talking about things openly a good idea? You make it sound like they see all -- anyone spying on us here?"

"It's very likely. They don't care if we talk to you or if they would not have put you here. It probably suits their purposes well enough if we do tell you all we know," Anij said, giving him an intense look.

"What are their purposes? Do you know anything about why they involved the Federation?" Will asked.

"I knew nothing of your Federation until Dougherty landed his ship in our field and his people studied us."

"Which ship?" Will asked.

"A small one, like a disk with a short nose. It had a concealment device."

Picard muttered something Ro didn't catch as he paced and ran a hand over his head. "You are saying, Anij, that you and your people are prisoners on this planet, and that the Verethragna take advantage of it to hide this installation. And the Son'a aren't just degenerating, are they? We just saw one of them, in the group that took us captive. They're altering themselves to be like the Verethragna, undergoing some sort of treatment that's ruining their skin?"

"It's very likely," Sojef said. "Such an ability would appeal to them. Another thing they could use to take advantage of others. How did you think of that, Captain?"

"We caught one of the yellow rodents you brought with you as pets. It died shortly before I left the ship. It didn't exhibit the symptoms the Son'a display -- just rapid aging. Am I to assume that, since they can't reproduce, these Verethragna are a thousand years old?"

"I believe it's part of why they are as they are," Anij murmured, hugging herself tighter. "Pushing themselves beyond the normal evolution of our species has turned them into monsters. They no longer have any feelings of affection or respect for others -- they will not negotiate. They will pretend to, if it suits their purposes."

"Psychopaths," Beverly said. She shrugged when Tom and Will both looked at her. "It's what they sound like."

Ro got up, finally feeling able, and steadied herself a moment before taking a step. "So the Jem'hadar patrol is made possible because the Jem'hadar think the Verethragna are the Founders?"

The officers whirled to watch the four soldiers march along the ledge. The Jem'hadar looked down at them, but without curiosity or interest. So far as the scaly humanoids were concerned, the Baku and Starfleet officers could be animals in a zoo. They disappeared through a door at the other end of the ledge.

"The Verethragna created the Jem'hadar for the Founders," Sojef said. "In exchange for help in recreating themselves. Our parents were experts in manipulations of that sort. The Founders were not so knowledgeable in the science of genetics."

A moment of silence followed. Ro cleared her throat, wishing for something to drink.

"Deanna's probably the only one who can find us." Picard glanced around them. "Sensors can't penetrate this. If this is a cloning facility for Jem'hadar it isn't likely we would get out alive if we tried. She's probably our only hope of rescue at this point."

"Jean-Luc, you left a very pregnant first officer with orders to remain on the edge of the Briar Patch until reinforcements show up," Beverly exclaimed. "She's not going to be in range to sense any of us."

He stabbed a finger in her general direction. "Name me a single first officer I've had who's obeyed orders to go elsewhere when I've been in danger."

"Data?" Will asked.

"Nope. Only had him for two years, but he managed to assert himself."

"How many times has Deanna disobeyed orders?" Crusher asked, crossing her arms and shifting her weight, the picture of scepticism.

"Adnalon -- though she was a counselor then. And she was counselor on Zibyan, though that wasn't really disobedience, more a case of walking out before I could finish giving orders. There was that time with the Deltan colonists. . . . She snapped at me about the y'Rigan difficulty we had, that was an interesting argument -- probably the first one the rest of the bridge crew saw. . . hm. No wonder the counselor's having a difficult time with those reviews. She crossed me when the -- "

"All right, already, so she has a record," Crusher exclaimed. "She's having a baby! Do you honestly want her to bring him back into this mess?"

"What I want has nothing to do with it." He turned away, sounding almost despondent about it. "She'll send him to starbase, probably in a shuttle with the other children. She'll turn around and come back."

"I don't think you understand the emotions a new mother experiences." Crusher's tone was solid as the rock they stood on. "There's nothing more important to a mother with a newborn than the welfare of the baby. Why would she risk both his parents?"

"I think, Beverly, that you don't understand her as much as you'd like to believe."

"So enlighten me!"

"He's right, she'll come back," Will said. He mimicked her posture, probably unconsciously. His bright eyes met Ro's briefly, then flicked back to the doctor's face. "Nothing's going to stop her. She wants her son to have a father, she wants her captain back, and she wants her husband back. The Son'a and all the rest don't stand a chance."

Ro glanced at the doctor, who still looked skeptical, then beyond her to Glendenning. From the look on his face, he believed Will. Three starship captains who believed Deanna could make that sacrifice, against one mother who didn't. Ro looked around at the curious Ba'ku studying them from a distance.

Damned if she knew who to believe.


	3. Aunt Emma Protocols

_If I had my hand full of truth, I would take good care how I opened it.  
~ Bernard Le Bovier Fontenelle ~_

_Expect the best, plan for the worst, and prepare to be surprised._   
_~ Denis Waitley ~_

_What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say._   
_~ Ralph Waldo Emerson ~_

~@~@~@~@~

 

Chapter 16

The only indication of night and day was the behavior of the Ba'ku -- attuned to the rhythms of the planet, they all lay down on the floor and slept at a certain time.

Jean-Luc sat apart from the others near the bare wall opposite the food dispenser, elbows on bent knees, and kept running the events so far through his mind, to keep them accurate. So many twists and turns, only to be penned up like an animal.

Variations on a theme. Another shapeshifting people -- another Dominion War? How long had the Randra Alliance planned this? No wonder Deanna had sensed familiar minds -- they had confronted the Jem'hadar a number of times during the war.

Beverly came over and sat next to him on the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Hey, sailor."

"Sorry, I'm only here for the liquor. I have it on good authority that tall fellow with the mustache has a hor'ghan, however."

She smirked. "At least you haven't completely lost your sense of humor."

"It's about all I've got left," he sighed, tugging on the chain and picking the compass out of the empty holster. "That and a compass."

"Where'd you get it?"

"My grandfather. On my seventh birthday. I lost it in the woods several months later, spent weeks looking for it, and never found it. Until I got married and went home on my honeymoon, and a Betazoid with a tricorder went looking for it."

"Weird thing to bring on a mission. Looks like an antique."

He smiled, turning it over and watching the needle bob around to north. "Deanna said not to lose my way home."

"I should have known. Still, it did come in handy, didn't it?"

"I wish it could tell me what to believe about all this." He watched the Ba'ku, most of whom lay curled together on the floor all around the room. "You know, for a bunch of people who were just taken from their villages and put in caves, they don't behave much like terrified prisoners."

"Maybe this isn't the first time it's happened. Maybe they'll be returned, to keep being the front for whatever's going on here." She bumped his shoulder with hers. "How are you holding up?"

He met her eyes. The first time he'd done so in a long time, at this close range. Still just as blue and intense as ever.

"You look tired, Jean-Luc," she murmured. "I don't know why you should. Will's bouncing around like a teenager."

"I'm worried."

"I can understand that, but so is he. His ship, y'know. And he's got Bell to worry about too." She bumped shoulders again. "Since I have you where you can't get away. . . . Can you actually communicate with Deanna telepathically?"

"Not really." Not without her help, anyway.

"I've read some interesting things, about Betazoids and bonds they form, and how sometimes it happens when they marry non-Betazoids."

Jean-Luc put the compass away. "Should come in handy if you ever get together with a Betazoid."

"Being opaque will get you nowhere, you know. I'll just ask Deanna."

"Go right ahead." He met her gaze again, smiling pleasantly.

"I hate that smug look. But it tells me I'm right. So which one is it?"

Rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb, he sighed. "The one that hurts like hell when she's in a different sector. It's better now than it used to be, but it's not easy, especially when I'm reminded of it."

Beverly lost the amused grin. "There weren't any that listed that as a symptom."

"How much of what you read talks about empaths bonding with humans?"

"Nothing. It still doesn't answer the question, either. Since she's an empath I'd have to guess it would be either ejhena, or maybe hajira. Though hajira's supposed to be rarer than any of them."

"Have you ever known me to settle for anything ordinary?" Crossing his legs, he bent to rub the stiff muscles at the base of his neck and his shoulder.

"Hajira," she murmured. "That's amazing. Does it match the general description or are there other atypical symptoms?"

"I'd rather not discuss it." Eyes closed, he leaned, elbow to knee, forehead to hand, and tried not to think of it.

"I'm sorry," Beverly whispered. "I didn't mean to be intrusive. But it's got my professional curiosity piqued. And every other kind of curiosity I've got. I've noticed there seems to be something unusual between you. Is it. . . is it like what happened on Kes-Prytt?"

It would have made him laugh, if it weren't so cosmically wrong that he sat on a stone floor in captivity for reasons he didn't completely understand yet, enduring this conversation. His hand went to his chest; though pressing knuckles into his sternum did nothing to alleviate the hollowness, he did it anyway.

"Nothing like it."

"I wish they hadn't taken my tricorder. You don't look well."

"I'm trying not to be snappish, Beverly, but I told you, it gets worse when talking about it. At the moment it's a dull throb, but any time now, you may as well just stab me and get it over with."

She fell silent. He knew she hadn't gone anywhere, and when he'd managed to work through the tightness until he could breathe easier, he glanced at her again. She watched him, trying to hide her intensity.

"Did you ever wonder what it would have been like, if we'd gotten together?"

Well, that was a definite change of topic. He wondered what had brought on this line of questioning. "That's a dumb question, Beverly, and not at all like you to ask."

"Did you ever wonder what our children would have been like?"

"Where are we, and why am I in this handbasket?"

It made her laugh, unexpected as it was. A hand to her mouth, she regained control and pushed her hair out of her face. "I was just curious."

"No. Not that I recall, anyway. And I did see some examples of our children, remember. Alternate universes can throw a whole new perspective on things."

"That's right -- funny how easy it is to forget about things like that. Though I never saw them. . . ." She looked across the room, to where Tom and Will were tinkering with the food dispenser, trying to get it to dispense something other than dirt-flavored wafers. "I wonder sometimes if Tom might change his mind and actually want children. I worry about it."

"Especially now that your biological clock is spinning in reverse?"

"You know, I think this attempt at friendly conversation is going from bad to worse."

"It's not the most relaxing setting for it, Beverly. I'm sure sitting in Ten Forward with a cup of tea would make it easier." If anything would, that is.

"Speaking of getting together, I'm planning a Christmas party this year -- I'm inviting everyone. I miss my parties. You're coming, and I won't take no for an answer."

She prodded his shoulder with a finger. Chuckling, he unfolded, straightening one leg. "Would you like to have it at the chateau?"

Her chin dropped briefly. "That would be a wonderful location. That's very generous of you -- what brought that on?"

"You want the whole list?"

"You have a list?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We're taking Yves home for the holiday, to meet Marie. Deanna wants to make snow angels in the front yard. It would be nice to have everyone in for a visit, and it would give me an excuse to invite Nat over so I could swindle her into babysitting so I can take Deanna to Paris the next day. Although, if we're going to have that many aunts and uncles in one place, there shouldn't be any lack of babysitters to choose from."

"My God," she muttered, grinning, "you're a family man."

"Frightening, isn't it?"

"You don't look so scared."

"I never look scared. But I can assure you, I'm absolutely terrified. I keep imagining myself as a teenager, and what I would have done with the ability to sense what other people feel."

"Oh." Beverly pursed her lips, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Now, there's a sobering thought. And here's a not-so-sobering one -- snow angels?"

"It's my maman's fault."

"This sounds like one of those things you won't finish explaining."

He stretched out on his back, folding an arm under his head. "You're right. Good night, Beverly. And by the way -- "

"Oh, relax, your secret's safe with me."

"It better be."

She stood and glared down at him. "Like I don't keep enough of your secrets already."

"This one's a little more important to me than some of the others."

She chewed her lip, her expression softening, then went to join the others.

Closing his eyes, Jean-Luc let himself relax -- inevitably, he found himself hunting automatically for Deanna again and coming up short. Too far away. He thought about the too-short hug exchanged in the ready room when he decided to stay behind and try to help Tom and the Ba'ku. His conscience hadn't allowed him to leave -- Deanna had sensed the guilt. If not for his allowing the effects of the radiation to fog his thinking, he would have realized what Natalia had. He'd looked only at what was there in front of him, not at what was missing. The motivations, the answers to questions he hadn't bothered to ask -- he had slipped, allowed himself to become too distracted, and hadn't seen that the Ba'ku might not be willing participants.

He drifted -- he was on leave and in Paris, walking with Deanna. They saw Natalia being chased by the Raibi, those hairy assassins that had attempted to kill him on Telix, and ran after her. Yves was there, in his adult time-traveling state, hurrying to the rescue. Then they were on the bridge, everyone in their places, and at red alert. Then they were on Betazed at the Fifth House. He fell, and he couldn't seem to move. Deanna called his name, only for some reason she sounded like Beverly.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Cygne," he muttered, realizing he'd been dreaming through a kaleidoscope of the last year -- he felt sluggish, as if he'd really relived it. Shaking off the illusion of Beverly's voice, he slid his arm further around --

Where was Yves? When had Deanna lost a bra size? Or three.

Wait a minute. This wasn't his quarters, and stone floor hard against his shoulder proved it. And whose hand was on his thigh?

An elbow struck him in the ribs before he could panic. He lurched away from the blow and rolled into another warm body. In seconds, he was on his feet and on full red alert, and so was Will. And Beverly had jumped up too, and Tom, and the four of them looked at each other warily.

"For a while, I was wishing I had an imager," Ro said from nearby, sitting up. "Now I *really* wish I did. That was something. One minute you're all cuddling up, the next you look like you'd rather shoot each other."

Will started to laugh and swear. Beverly glared, red-faced, and Tom put a hand over his amused grin and attempted to look serious while struggling with laughter. Jean-Luc jabbed an accusing finger at Beverly.

"I can't let down my guard with you, can I? I take a little nap and suddenly you're all over me!"

"Me? ME?? Jean-Luc Picard, you take that back! I wasn't the one groping -- "

"Can't you keep your officers under control?" Jean-Luc exclaimed, glaring at Tom.

"Oh, great -- you grope, blame her, and it's my responsibility," Tom shot back, waving his arms in exasperated, exaggerated dismay. "You're hopeless! All of you! And you're dragging me into the madness with you, dammit!"

Jean-Luc watched Beverly's ire turn into a sullen expression, and bowed to the inevitable with a sigh. "I'm sorry. But you can't hold me responsible for what I do in my sleep, and you weren't that close when I dropped off. I was. . . ." He realized then -- he should have felt the ache. He wasn't missing hajira. He'd been able to sleep. That meant Deanna was at least in orbit, if not actively looking for them.

Something else was different -- there were no guards strolling through, as there had been before. He scanned the ledge overhead. Jem'hadar soldiers on patrol came through at short, regular intervals, looking down at them passively and carrying large phaser rifles; there should have been a patrol by now.

Two plus two meant four -- Deanna was close enough to fill the gap in his chest, and the Jem'hadar were drawn away by something. There could be a battle raging and they'd never know, deep underground in this holding pen.

"They're back," he murmured, scanning the periphery again. "The *Enterprise* is back."

"How do you know?" Beverly asked, distracted from sullenness by her surprise.

"How long has it been since the last patrol went through?" That question he directed at Ro.

She glanced around. "You're right -- it's been too long. Something's going on. It could be Data, though. Maybe he's sent teams down looking for us. He'd do that."

"No. It's --"

{Jean!}

He spun, almost overbalancing himself, and found himself oriented on the door at the other end of the room. The pull. Undeniable -- she was using hajira to pull herself to him, and now that she came within his short range, he could sense her.

{Almost there. Get away from the door!}

"Sojef! Get away from the door!" he shouted. The small group of Ba'ku leaped up off the floor and Sojef herded them to the other end of the room.

"Who is it?" Anij asked. "How do you know? Are you -- "

The concussion drowned out the question -- the door blossomed inward, then melted slowly under the beam of a phaser. The metal wasn't the same as Starfleet used, not as durable or thick, though it looked the same. Then the beam cut off and a familiar -- and slender -- first officer of his acquaintance leaped through the wisps of smoke. She ran a few steps, reoriented on one of the ledges, bringing up her rifle an instant later. When the door opened, she fired, repeatedly. Jem'hadar fell. In between shots she shouted. In Klingon?

With a roar, Klingon after Klingon leaped through the smoldering opening in the door, whirled, and added their own barrage to her volley.

When the firing ended, she shouted again. More Klingons entered, though they seemed disappointed to have missed the fighting. She pointed, and the warriors obeyed, forming a ladder with their own bodies for their comrades to use to get up to the ledge and leap over the fallen Jem'hadar to clear the corridor beyond.

He had only moments to note the surprised looks from his friends, especially Beverly the skeptical, and to savor the sight of his wife. Moments to grieve and wonder at the birth of his son -- how and when had it happened? Was he safely away?

Deanna flipped her rifle, rested it over her shoulder, marched the rest of the way to Jean-Luc, and snatched a padd from her belt, holding it out to him. "I'm sorry, sir, but in battling with five-to-one odds with the Son'a, the ship is in bad shape. On the positive side, the House of Martok greets you, and happily lends a hand in the rescue effort. In the last three hours, we have rescued four hundred fifty-two Ba'ku and forty-two of the *Lexington* crew. All attempts at a peaceable solution to this have failed -- our hails have gone unanswered, as have all overtures to any of the Son'a or Tarlac we have come across. Currently, the *Potemkin* is conducting a survey of the system and deploying more sensor buoys, just in case the twenty-five ships we disabled or destroyed were not the only ones hiding in the patch. The *Venture,* the *Renton* and the *Enterprise* are in orbit."

"Data to Troi," came a hail, unexpectedly. "You have been cut off. Repeat, you have been cut off - the transport point has been overtaken."

"Options," Deanna snapped, whirling to stride around in a small circle, looking at the ledges again.

"Sending in sleds to back you up. Teams ten and thirteen are heading your way. One of our sensor relays is down, there is a gap in our grid."

"What level?"

"Rep--- sorr-- you are -- -- "

"Data, what level are they on? Where are they coming from?" A popping noise, then silence. "Damn! Kevar, get the others back here," she said to one of the handful of Klingons. Kevar roared orders, and shortly the four who had gone to reconnoiter the upper corridor returned.

Jean-Luc glanced over the padd and passed it to Tom -- some of it was damage reports for his ship. "We're trapped?"

"Temporarily," Deanna said. "We win ground and we lose it, and win it back. After the initial strike they seem to have divided the remaining soldiers into small groups. Data estimates this installation is only a few years old and they haven't been breeding the Jem'hadar here even that long."

"He is correct," Anij said. "They haven't been here long. The Jem'hadar production began only a few months ago, if it coincides with the first time we saw them. They sometimes conduct maneuvers in the fields."

Deanna strolled forward, and, taking note of her posture, Jean-Luc sidled out of her way. The subtle shift in the angle of her shoulders and the lowering of the chin indicated a collection and a shift of focus. "You are Anij?"

"This is Commander Troi, my first officer," Jean-Luc offered formally.

"Do you know this installation? How many Jem'hadar there are?" Deanna asked.

"No. You are rescuing my people? Are you getting volunteers from among those you rescue?" Curious question for a pacifist to ask, Jean-Luc thought. Almost as curious as the answer.

"There have been a number of them. How many of your people are being held?"

"I can't be certain. It depends upon how many they have killed or taken off the planet."

"This does not disturb you," Deanna said, walking among the Ba'ku slowly.

"It has been going on for three years. They will not stop when you are gone. We have accepted our fate. The Verethragna and the Son'a are our people as well -- their actions will be the end of us all."

"Unless you asked for help. How do you know there is no way to counteract the effects of the radiation? You have given up all technological means to find out -- how do you know the Federation couldn't find a way to help?" Jean-Luc said.

Anij smiled at him, her warm eyes thanking him for the offer, but lacking real hope. "Would your Federation do such a thing?"

"Of course."

Deanna snapped to attention as another hail came through. "Data to Troi -- transport point re-established, proceed with all haste to coordinates."

"Acknowledged. Quickly, all of you -- follow Kevar!" She pointed, and Kevar hurried for the door. Anij went first, the others followed her, and the other Klingons went one by one, with two waiting to bring up the rear.

"Are you coming or did you want to wait for the next team?" Deanna asked frostily.

"Why do I get the feeling I've done something wrong without having a clue I was doing it?" Jean-Luc said, catching the padd Tom tossed back to him and marching for the door.

"Nonsense, Captain. What could you have possibly done wrong -- other than beaming down without security, then running off underground?"

"Blame Tom, his first officer gives up too easy," Jean-Luc grumbled.

"You could have requested -- "

"*I* did," Beverly exclaimed, following behind Jean-Luc and Tom.

"After we beamed down and lost communications with *Venture-," Will pointed out. "Which is still a mystery -- just why did we lose comms?"

"Possibly the jamming signal coming from the equipment concealed in the bell tower in the village," Deanna said, stepping through the blast opening carefully. "I just can't leave you alone anywhere, can I, Jean-Luc?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You leave the ship and the next thing I know, someone else is fascinated by you."

"Let me guess," Ro huffed, jogging along with the group through the narrow corridor. "Commander Sensor Array sensed someone thinking lascivious thoughts about her husband."

"No one asked you." Deanna seemed to know where she was going -- she took the second corridor to the left at a five-way intersection.

"You know better," Jean-Luc exclaimed.

"I do -- but it's just another irritation in a week that's been jammed solid with irritation after interruption after annoyance. After we got orders yesterday, we almost got killed in a fire fight getting here, we have casualties and wounded to tend, we have a furious fleet admiral -- Dougherty was supposed to be part of a negotiations team sent to the Randra Alliance. This is the last place he was supposed to show up."

"There's a reason for that. Anij told us enough to make a few guesses. What did Nechayev say?"

"We are ordered to retrieve all Starfleet personnel, help the Ba'ku within the confines of regulations, and get out of the Briar Patch. If our original sensor reading was accurate, we have one thousand four hundred fifty-six Ba'ku to account for."

"And we need to look out for shapeshifters. One of them tried to impersonate Ro. They're very convincing unless you're paying attention to things like left-handedness or minor alterations in personality. Anij says they can mimic humanoids in appearance but not in form."

Deanna groaned but never paused in her headlong march. "I'll tell Data when -- "

"Worf to Troi," came another hail. "We need reinforcements in section four, level two! I cannot get through to Data, there is apparently a gap in our relay grid."

"Troi to Data, can you hear me? Section four, level two requests reinforcements. A relay has gone down."

"Confirmed. Team fourteen is en route to replace it. Rerouting two sleds -- Davidson and Mendez, section four, level two. Watch for swinging bat'leths."

"Sleds?" Will exclaimed.

"Attack sleds, like in Redman's Folly," Deanna said, running forward. "Come on, let's get there already!"

"What about my ship? Where's my ship?" Will caught up and ran next to her.

"It's in one piece," she exclaimed. "Mostly."

"What does that mean?"

"They were using it to attack us! It was self-defense!"

"Dee, where is my ship?"

"We'll recover it later. Don't worry about that now. Most of your crew is here."

They entered a five-way junction, with a circle of transporter signal enhancers glowing greenish in the faint yellow light of the tunnels. Two security officers wearing comm badges with the *Venture*'s insignia stood, each with phaser rifle on hip, looking around nervously.

"The *Enterprise* -- sickbay," Deanna said, turning her eyes to Jean-Luc as she spoke. "No arguments."

They moved into the circle, the attendant tapped a few keys on a portable console, and they materialized in sickbay.

"Dr. Mengis," one of the nurses cried, turning from a patient.

Mengis had Jean-Luc on a biobed in moments, and ordered others to see to the other two captains and Beverly. Ro was removed to another ward as there were no available beds left in main sickbay. No time for research and analysis now. Mengis checked Jean-Luc quickly and met his eyes.

"You're fine. The radiation seems to be having its usual effect -- when was the last time you ate?"

He paused, surprised. "It's been that long," he said, bemused.

"Eat something. We've been having that difficulty with every human."

"Doctor, where is my son?"

The sober look the CMO gave him made him worry, but Mengis said, "He's fine. At starbase with the other children by now." He propelled Jean-Luc from the bed toward Deanna, waiting near the door.

"We'll get something to eat together," she said, glancing at the others. "They can find us later. I'm due for a break. Although. . . Troi to Carlisle, how are you doing up there?"

"It's -- going -- the comm's still ----."

"I can tell. The captain's aboard. We found the missing away team."

"Good! We -------"

"Ward, you're breaking up. Get back to repairs. Troi out." She sighed, leading Jean-Luc from sickbay. "The bridge comm systems were a victim of a random surge. They can receive, but transmissions get garbled. It made things interesting for a while."

"Mengis is letting personnel beam down?"

Deanna shook her head and kept up her headlong march. "He doesn't have much choice. He's consoled himself with the fact that it will take longer than a day for there to be any serious ramifications, and with Natalia's continued good health he's hoping his original estimates were exaggerated. And we've assured him that once we're satisfied there is no longer a threat to the Ba'ku and our personnel have been retrieved, the ships will retreat into a solar orbit."

She took him to officer's mess on deck five, bypassing their quarters. The ship seemed deserted. When he commented, she said, "Everyone left on board is working on repairs."

He opted for soup because of his lack of a real appetite, but found that after two spoonfuls that the smell seemed to stimulate his appetite. She stared into her salad, which had a higher proportion than usual of red and orange items.

"Dee, how is -- "

"Eat, already. Doctor's orders. You won't be much use if you don't have any energy. Metaphasic radiation has, so far, not proved itself to be a substitute for food."

She wasn't ready to let go yet. This iron composure she showed in times of crisis had appeared before, and he knew why -- a form of denial, in order to function in spite of mental anguish, something to which he was certainly no stranger. So he felt his concern, his affection, his sorrow at the turn of events, and as they ate, her hand crept across the table to join his.

He didn't let go when the door opened and they were joined by the rest of their recently-liberated group, meeting Deanna's eyes for a moment of silent argument -- she caved in and gathered salad on her fork, and he loosened his grip slightly. Beverly brought a tray from the replicator and sat next to Deanna, moving to put an arm around her.

"Don't," Jean-Luc said softly.

Beverly gaped at him. "What the hell are you dictating my -- "

"I should be going," Deanna said. "I've been gone too long. You'll find the details of our orders on the padd I gave you, sir, and Mr. Carlisle has been briefed on the details of our current endeavor, so if you need further information you can ask him." She squeezed his fingers and pulled away. Beverly stared after her as she dumped her dishes and departed.

"She's got to be upset about -- "

"She doesn't want to hear it," Jean-Luc said. "Not yet. Leave her alone."

"Why?"

"Because once she starts she won't be able to set it aside. You do realize she's not the only one who's affected by this situation? He's my son, too," Jean-Luc said, his voice tightening at the mere admission of it.

He didn't look up from his soup again. No one spoke -- even the good-natured ongoing banter between Tom and Will went wanting. He left the room for the bridge, glancing at Ro -- she sat near the end of the table, and he had to look down to navigate around it. Her expression said sympathy, the last thing he wanted at that point.

He made it to the lift. Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he took long, shuddering breaths, fighting himself, trying to master emotions, staring at the padd he'd carried numbly from the cavern. His ship had no warp core, impaired defensive capabilities, miscellaneous secondary systems damage -- the padd told a story of an incredible battle if he could fill in the blanks between damage reports. She had called in Worf, called in Shelby, nearly scuttled the ship, and now she apparently led the infiltration of the installation.

He changed his mind halfway up to the bridge. He had to help the effort on the surface. "New destination, computer. Transporter room two. Picard to Troi."

"Yes, Captain?" In the background he heard the echo of other voices in a close space.

"I'm coming down. What can I do up here? Nothing."

"You can be the captain."

"I refuse to sit up here while the majority of my crew are risking their necks."

"Captain -- "

"You beat the hell out of my ship. You, all of you, fought like hell to get here, and you're still going. If I can do something to help, I'll do it."

A pause. "Beam to staging area five. Data is operating the hub there. I'll meet you there shortly. Troi out."

He read the damage report again until the lift opened. They were only slightly better off than *Venture,* which had even lost impulse and had to be towed back into the system by *Potemkin* -- it reminded him of tight spots they'd been in during the war. The attendant made him wait while she direct-beamed some people from the caverns to sickbay, then waved him up on the platform. He heard her speaking to someone about medical supplies as he beamed out.

He materialized in staging area five, wishing the transporter could screen out knots in the stomach, and looked around. The grassy slope peppered with rocks and an occasional tree was littered with officers, Starfleet and Klingon, and in another ring of transporter signal enhancers another group of Ba'ku materialized. Down the hillside an awning shaded the triage area; he recognized Bell's golden hair as the nurse carried an armload of field kits, probably just sent down from the ship, into it.

The grass had been trampled in an ever-widening triangle, the apex of which lay at the mouth of a cave in the base of a rocky cliff. Data stood at a console to one side of the cave, which looked newly-made. Roots were neatly cut, and the rock too precisely-planed. The android looked very busy, his fingers flying over the board.

"Good morning, sir," he said when Jean-Luc came to see what he was doing. His eyes never left the display. "Natalia, you are due for a break. Hover your sled and take one, or I will ask Captain Picard to scold you."

Jean-Luc smiled a little at that. "You're coordinating teams?"

"I am coordinating the attack sleds and the teams because I am able to process multiple tasks much more rapidly than -- Ben, your engine is overheating. Please decrease velocity by ten percent."

"Ben, as in Counselor Davidson?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Yes, sir. He is one of the more proficient at Redman's Folly, which was in fact the prototype program for the attack sleds. Garrett, you are off course. Please return to your search pattern. Thank you."

"This is an interesting solution to the problem."

"Peaceful overtures were ignored. Mr. Carlisle suggested the search parties and pattern enhancers at regular intervals. The sleds were Deanna's idea, once the scope of the endeavor became apparent. We brought down more crew as needed. The underground installation is roughly five kilometers long and six levels deep, from what we can discern. Evidently the Verethragna make a practice of keeping their prisoners in small groups, to make them more manageable and less likely to attempt an escape en masse. We are searching the entire facility."

"I should leave you to your work," Jean-Luc said. "Except -- Data, where did all the Klingons come from? Starfleet reinforcements should have made it here faster than they could."

The android smiled, keeping his eyes on the flickering readouts. "Worf was one of the ambassadors invited to this year's Admiralty Ball. He was heading for Deep Space Nine to see friends there before the ball, with a full escort. Official reinforcements would not have been here for another day, so Deanna dispatched a message before returning to Ba'ku."

"What about Shelby?"

"Commander Troi sent Lieutenant Greenman to the starbase, piloting the gig. A fortunate choice -- I do not know how many of the other junior officers would have had the initiative to request Captain Shelby's assistance. The sleds are Shelby's design, and she was on her way to field test them. I gather it was a classified test, as her last reported position was the Denalva system. You are taking command of the rescue effort, sir?"

Jean-Luc watched groups of officers gathering in the two rings of enhancers and beaming away to their tasks. "This appears to be operating just fine as it is. Don't you agree?"

"You have always encouraged teamwork, Capt -- Tenman, to section three level three, support requested by team fourteen. Excuse me. Are you here to lead a team?"

"If that's where I'm needed. I doubt I'd be able to fill in for you." A black blur whizzed by, disappearing into the cave. "Was that a sled?"

"A replacement. They are operated by remote." Data indicated a yellow case that had once held components, probably of the console; at the moment it held a few large padds. "These are linked into the network. They are maps, which are updated every few seconds. You will need one."

Jean-Luc took one and wandered around a bit, noting that officers were sitting in shady spots here and there, resting. Presumably waiting for reassignment. He glanced at badges -- there were four ships involved, he realized. The only unknown insignia had to be from the *Renton.* He scanned the faces of a group coming out with wounded comrades and freed Ba'ku, another group of less than twenty, as Data had said.

*Enterprise* crew worked with *Venture* and *Potemkin* crew seamlessly -- it was as though everyone had known everyone else for years. The Klingons were the only wrinkle in the works, and even that didn't detract; officers were smiling at the joyous chaos of Klingons in the high of battle. Klingons, it seemed, were among those youthened by the radiation. While he watched five Klingons chanting some pre-battle song as they raced up the slope toward the cave, a shuttle did a flyby overhead.

The sleds were amazing. A dozen of them sat in a field down the slope; every so often one would rise and zoom into the cave, ably dodging anyone who happened to be in the way. Redman's Folly, indeed -- he wondered who Redman was.

A man he recognized came up the slope from the triage area -- the captain of the *Renton.* He approached where Jean-Luc stood near a small tree.

"Captain Picard," Ventana said, with a tight smile. "Nice to meet you in person. I'm Victor Ventana. Captain of the *Renton.*" They shook hands, and Ventana gestured at the mouth of the cave. "Most of these are your crew, from what I can tell. Mine are here, too, somewhere. The fleet admiral's orders came as a shock to us -- Admiral Dougherty seemed quite authentic to me. If I had known it would come to this -- you must understand, Captain, that he had expressed suspicion of you all along and insisted that your presence here was a risk, due to your. . . history."

"History? With the Borg?"

"Not exactly." Ventana watched a team materialize in the ring of enhancers, with wounded and another small group of Ba'ku. The liberated prisoners in good shape were directed down the path being worn in the grass; as they hurried into the trees, the wounded were carried toward the triage area. It was Deanna's group. She came out of the ring last, brushing stray hair back from her face.

She glanced down the hill at where the two captains stood beneath a tree, and smiled. For a moment her face lit up and worry and weariness fled. {I have something to take care of -- I'll be with you in a moment.} Then she was turning away, issuing orders to some of the officers.

"The admiral considered you a poor risk because of your personal relationships with various officers," Ventana continued, reminding him they were having a conversation. "Especially that officer."

"The admiral isn't alone in that opinion."

"He may be, by the time this is over. Troi contacted us on their flyby and requested our help, and given the orders, I of course agreed -- my security chief put us on the secure frequency and we went to red alert. They were calling out maneuvers by numbers. Your security chief uploaded us a list -- we're a scientific vessel. We don't do battle. We were couriers in the war, when we had to be. I'm a scientist. But this -- the other two ships were doing things I could not have guessed anyone could do, even in a Sovereign-class. I knew about the metaphasic shields, of course, but to use them that way. . . the two slowed to half impulse and somehow meshed shields -- "

"Number six," Jean-Luc said.

"I suppose if I listed the numbers you would know exactly what happened," Ventana said, smiling again. "More than the tactics surprised me -- the android and Troi seemed to almost communicate telepathically. And the balance of the orders came from her, and she included my ship but seemed to recognize our limitations."

She had a few hours of travel time to think about it on the way back, so she had probably analyzed the options then. Jean-Luc wondered if Ventana had ever been anything but an onlooker before.

"I had heard she was your counselor. I've never heard of a counselor becoming a first officer."

"My officers are all very capable -- my current counselor, in fact, is flying one of the sleds at the moment."

Ventana met his eyes, all traces of bemusement or mirth retreating rapidly. "I owe you an apology, Captain Picard."

"Apology?"

"I believed the admiral. I cooperated with him. He told me to use the Maquis, if you showed up. He said the mission was critical and that I was to claim the Maquis were the reason for the secrecy, and ask you to take them, for the sake of better security -- which it turned out I needed. But, he said, that would have satisfied you." Ventana crossed his arms, tucking fingers into armpits. "I would have doubted the admiral's wariness, but for the fact that you had married an officer -- I was one of those who believed that showed a lack of responsibility, on your part."

"You mean it meant that I'd compromised too much. If it weren't working so well, I'd have believed that myself."

"I thought, when I saw her on your bridge while talking to you, that she must be pregnant. That startled me even further -- I hadn't heard that you had gone so far as to attempt a family on board a starship. But I see now that I must have imagined it."

A pang of pain at that thought. "It wasn't your imagination. She had him and sent him away. She wouldn't have brought him back, knowing there would be battle."

Ventana blinked. "But who would take care of him?"

"Her mother is the Federation ambassador to Betazed. She probably gave Guinan -- a good friend of ours who happens to be one of the few civilians aboard -- instructions to take him there."

They watched another group coming out of the cave, an attack sled swerving around them on the way in.

"She's also quite beautiful," Ventana said distantly.

"Excuse me, Captain." Jean-Luc headed for the cavern -- Deanna was drawing him, calling him, and as he passed Data, she drew near enough for an actual discussion.

Another handful of officers trotted past with another unconscious and bleeding person, this time one of the younger Klingons. Then she came around a corner in the corridor, alone. They met in that corner, and his hand found her cheek automatically before he could stop it. He glanced behind her and down the corridor to the entrance. He leaned close, cheek to cheek, and let himself unwind. And for a moment, so did she -- but unlike earlier in the officer's mess she had prepared herself for it.

"How are you?" he asked.

"The radiation affected me about two hours after I beamed down. I think I'm starting to adjust -- I'm getting tired. Part of it is keeping myself from you for so long. I'd leaned on you for emotional support so much during the pregnancy that it's a habit."

"Yves?"

Her eyes glistened, and her smile almost blinded him until she lost the moment and started to cry. "He's beautiful, perfect, and I wanted so much to snatch him out of Guinan's arms and keep him with me -- "

"Commander," he said, dropping his hand.

She took longer than usual to regain control. Swallowing repeatedly and wiping her eyes on her sleeves, she nodded. "Sir."

"Would you please give me something to do? If I have to stand out there listening to Ventana become the leader of the cult of Deanna Troi for one more minute -- "

She laughed at it, too hard, but she'd needed it. Putting up her hair again occupied her fidgeting hands.

"Besides, I don't like competition for that particular role," he murmured. She let him run a hand across her shoulders, squeezing tight muscles, offering a back rub he knew she would not allow. She sighed, leaned toward him, then started for the cave mouth. His hand fell away as he followed and became the officer again.

"I've been putting together more teams as officers are rested or healed. Let's see who's available."

"Did you have difficulty finding us?"

"Yes, until we started making low-altitude sweeps in shuttles over the mountains, on the off chance that you were hiding from the Son'a with the Ba'ku. We detected Tom's comm badge -- he left it just outside the cavern."

"You didn't see the trail of footprints in the grass? Where the Ba'ku had gone into the mountains? That's what we followed."

Suspicions glimmered in her eyes. "No. The teams looked, too. When we arrived, it looked as though the Ba'ku had simply vanished, and you along with them. Finding Tom's badge was the only clue we had. And the first few teams into the caverns were greeted by Tarlac and Jem'hadar soldiers, which began the first firefights. Data tried to appeal to them for parlay and asked to see their commanders--he got nowhere. He retreated, we discussed our options, and based on the inability to detect anything within the installation, we began this systematic invasion. At first we tried to tell everyone we confronted why we were doing it and that we'd cease if our people and the Ba'ku were set free, but doing so only lead to casualties. So now we shoot on sight. As our teams made progress it became apparent that this was a much larger installation than we had thought. With *Potemkin*'s phasers we drilled evenly-spaced entrances until we found only solid rock. The sleds map and find cells with prisoners, the teams set up comm and sensor relays, put up pattern enhancers, and guide prisoners to them while keeping the way free of soldiers."

By the end of her summary, he grinned unabashedly. Deanna scowled at it. "Is something the matter, Captain?"

"I shouldn't be happy -- I'm not, really. But. . . . It can wait, Commander. We should be going. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can leave the Briar Patch. When we locate the ones in charge of this installation -- do we know what purpose this place has? Other than creating Jem'hadar?"

"I'm afraid to speculate. Research, if one goes by the number of rooms that look like crosses between laboratories and torture chambers."

"A war lab," he said, following her down the corridor toward the exit. "Preparing to launch an attack? At least there aren't many of the shapeshifters."

"Some of the Ba'ku took up arms, which surprised me after you mentioned they were pacifistic. Ro is in one of the teams, as well."

"Already?"

"She beamed down while you were talking to Ventana, Data said. Her three companions are already here, helping where they can. The Caitian is nearly as vicious as the Klingons."

They went down the hillside, blinking in the sunlight. Deanna glanced around looking for possible team members.

"I didn't do anything to encourage Anij, you know," he said softly.

The cant of Deanna's brows and the laughter in her eyes made him wish he hadn't tried. "She wasn't interested in you that way, actually. I found her difficult to read. Most of the Ba'ku aren't so difficult, but there are a few exceptions, and the few Son'a we've captured are also difficult. Anij was intrigued by your offer of Federation assistance. She didn't expect it."

"So you aren't really upset?"

"Just with the situation. What do the Verethragna really want? I don't see it."

"Anij said the Verethragna created the Jem'hadar for the Founders in exchange for help in recreating themselves, and the Verethragna are actually the same race as the Son'a and Ba'ku. That they're a thousand years old and also unable to procreate."

She frowned, plexing rapidly. "The bottom line being that any way we look at it, this is a dying race whose only hope may be what you suggested -- finding a way to reverse the damage done to the Ba'ku. They seem to be the ones who remain close to their natural path of development, certainly nothing like the Son'a. But Dr. Mengis said that the real cause of sterility is in the way the radiation stimulates the reproductive system -- "

"Let me guess, it forces ovulation."

Another startled look, then a curl of her lip. "Oh, no. Beverly." She sighed and looked at the ground. "And then prevents conception. In any case, a solution for the Ba'ku won't be easy."

She waved over a trio of Shelby's security officers, newly discharged from the medics and ruddy from the metaphasic radiation and battle-induced adrenalin. They were joined in the circle of pattern enhancers by five grinning Klingons, ready for a fight. Deanna picked a rifle from a bin, tossed it to Jean-Luc, threw a parting smile over her shoulder, and went up the hill.

"Team twenty-seven, to 10-C, marked green on the map." Data's voice came from Jean-Luc's badge. "Energizing."

They materialized within the mountains, in another ring of pattern enhancers, and Jean-Luc held up the padd. The path to the assigned coordinates was clear. He heard the distant whirring of a sled echoing faintly through the tunnels.

"It is a good day to die," one of the Klingons said.

"It's a good day to succeed in your objective," one of the lieutenants said.

"It's a good day to get going and get this over with," Jean-Luc said, pointing at the Klingons. "You're scouting ahead, you're watching our backs -- let's move!"

Smiling grimly, he ran after the excited Klingon ahead of them, holding the phaser rifle against his chest at the ready, the map tucked in his jacket. He tried not to think about the fact that, once again, they were in a pointless conflict. He'd think of it later when he could put the anger and frustration to good use -- when they confronted their first Jem'hadar.

~^~^~^~^~

The sled flew through the narrow corridors -- this was like the section of the game set in the canyonlands, with the enemy fighters coming out of the canyon walls. Ben kept slipping back into game mode then reminding himself that it wasn't a game, that the mission this time was finding the prisoners and freeing them, and that the things he shot at really disintegrated or burned.

Every person who could fly a sled past level three had been pressed into service, and those who couldn't and were also unable to help repair the ship itself were busily replicating sleds to beam down. A sled gave great advantage over Jem'hadar wielding hand weapons and cut down on the number of Starfleet wounded.

Ben dodged the sled around a corner and sighted a door that looked promising ahead -- he touched the controls and the forward phasers blasted apart the doors. Then, in the few seconds of approach, another target appeared -- Jem'hadar. He fired.

The sled sailed unimpeded through the destroyed doors, and he never spotted what was left of the Jem'hadar. Speed was a good thing.

Reflexes kept him from plowing into the wall. Another corridor, long enough that he could check his heads-up floating over his forehead. The 2-D map showed him where he'd been and his current heading. The computer also showed areas explored by other sled pilots -- another few corridors and he would intersect with Jamramis' flight path.

The door ahead opened, and Captain Picard stepped out.

Braking jets! Ben hovered, trying to regain his voice. Nat had reported finding the captain and some of the Ba'ku. "Nat, you listening?"

"What's up?"

"You said you found the captain."

"He's with a team -- leading it, from what hub says. They're freeing another cluster of prisoners."

"He's in front of me and alone."

"Hang on."

Ben waited. The captain approached slowly, hands open, as if initiating a first contact. Nudging the jets, Ben backed the sled away and put the crosshairs on him, activating that cadged addition of Batris', the onboard tricorder. Sleds were basically automatic weapons with an engine attached; sensors weren't part of the prototype, other than the comm array that gave the pilot visual feedback. Another flick of the controls and a window-in-window gave him a view of the tricorder readout. Direct feed was preferable, but in a pinch, a simple optical device rigged into the sled's computer worked as well. Tricorder said humanoid, but didn't read as human. The alert had gone out that shapeshifters were part of the mixture of aliens they confronted -- still, he didn't want to do anything too quickly and regret it.

"Nope, captain's with 'em, all right. Just got confirmation from hub. One of the relays in that section went down -- the captain is working to replace and defend it." Because of the kelbonite, the sleds had to be within half a kilometer of their pilots or a communications relay while flying in the caverns. Control signals had to be piggybacked through the sleds, which observed set search patterns, or through the relays set up at beamout points. The whole system would fall apart with the loss of more than a single sled or relay. Lucky they had replacements so close to hand; for now, everything worked.

Ben watched the captain on his screen -- he was trying to talk to the sled. "Hub, are you sure about that? He's really somewhere else?"

Data's voice came over the link. "I have highlighted the captain's position on the display."

Ben glanced at his heads-up. The red dot was new -- the blue one was his sled. Definitely more than a quarter of a kilometer apart. He switched on the comm unit of the sled. "Who are you?"

"I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard," the imposter said. But he sounded *exactly* like the real thing. Eerie. "Please, whoever you are -- Natalia? Or is it Deanna? It *is* you, isn't it? The speaker distorted your voice -- help me out of here."

That tore it. The speaker didn't distort voices *that* much. Biting his lip, Ben ran his thumb down the virtual yoke that felt so real, and rested a finger on the trigger to the short-range explosive-projectile weapon in the belly of the sled.

"Sorry, but you're not the captain. Drop the pretense and surrender."

For an answer, the man's hand dropped to a phaser at his waist. How had a shapeshifter gotten a Federation weapon? The only way would have been taking it from a Starfleet officer. Ben's finger closed on the trigger before he fully comprehended that he himself, over a kilometer of winding passages from his sled, was in no danger.

The shot struck the captain in the chest. Ben had to close his eyes. He counted backward from ten, trying not to hyperventilate, then opened them.

The body on the floor of the corridor was humanoid, but not the captain.

"Shape shifter, everyone. They look like Ba'ku in their natural state. This one looked like the captain until shot. I. . . shot him."

"Position and description noted, Ben," Data said. "Stay on course."

With the comm channel volume turned down and the sled under way once more, Ben got into the rhythm of turning corners, blasting doors, ducking in and out of the dead ends -- rooms full of obscure items he saw as blurs as he whipped the sled in tight turns that would've been impossible with a pilot on board -- and swooped at last into a cavern. A quick circuit. Starfleet personnel.

"Got Starfleet personnel, hub. About sixteen of them. Busting them out. Request a guide to my position."

"Nearest beam point is within half a kilometer. Please hold your position until I give the word."

Another toggle of the comm unit. "This is Lieutenant-Commander Davidson, of the *Enterprise.* Back away from the door. Someone will be here soon to lead you from these caverns."

He cut the comm as cheers broke out and the officers scuttled away to give him room. While he waited, he updated them on what to expect when they did beam out to the triage area. Data gave the order ten minutes later. Descending and centering the cross-hairs on the doors, he ran a quick scan with the tricorder and blasted the doors. When the Jem'Hadar appeared, he fired again, and again. Then with a nudge of the accelerator he shot into the corridor, to scout forward. He passed a couple of Klingons running in -- the wild-haired, armored warriors reminded Ben of bears, with the appearance of being big and ungainly. But he knew that was only appearance.

After ensuring the escape route would be clear, he swept through the corridors to get back on track. Another check of the heads-up. Another corner. The tricorder beeped -- his alarm. He slowed, found a likely-looking spot, and the sled rose into one of the vertical air shafts. Setting the computer to hover and locking it, he pulled off the headset, tugged off the gloves, and accepted the glass of water the nurse had ready for him.

This corridor, just inside the cavern entrance, was their base of operations, secured by armed Klingons and various security personnel who returned from forays uninjured but needed a rest interval. A few support staff -- medical personnel to monitor the sled pilots -- wandered to and fro with snacks, water and tricorders to determine fitness for duty. At the moment, the nurse was the only one in his section, and she disappeared around a corner after a quick scan.

As Ben sat wiping his forehead with his sleeve, the captain arrived. He halted and looked down at the counselor, holding out a hand. Ben took it and stood on rubbery legs. Picard looked like he'd been in a few scuffles, with flecks of blood on his uniform and a tear in his sleeve. He must be between forays.

"Counselor," he said, officious and pleasant as always.

"Sir. How are you? I'm glad to see you made it out."

"I'm quite all right, thank you. I understand you killed one of the shapeshifters? We're sending in a team to recover it for the doctors. Data said that it was imitating me. Was it convincing?"

"Only until it started talking. It sounded exactly like you but it doesn't know enough about you to make it convincing."

"That's somewhat disturbing, but reassuring at the same time. What did it say?"

"It tried to appeal to me for a way out. As if you hadn't been found. The mistake was addressing me as if it -- you -- believed I might be Deanna."

"And I would have known she wouldn't be flying one of the sleds, because she never did more than try it once." Picard chuckled, eyeing Ben with wry amusement. "You know, my counselors keep surprising me with hidden talents -- I didn't realize you were a pilot. I've been watching the display at Commander Data's station between teams. You've covered more territory than most of the others."

"I have?"

"Keep up the good work." He paused in turning away. "Ben. . . what happened after I left the ship?"

"Uh, sir?"

"I know that the ship went to the edge of the patch. I know she contacted the admiral and received orders. I know she had the baby. What I do not know is when, or how."

"She. . . ." Ben hesitated, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "I don't know how long she was in labor. She waited until after she contacted Command and went to sickbay while waiting for the admiral to call with orders. You haven't spoken to her?"

"Not about that." He shifted his weight from one leg to the other uneasily. "Do you know any details? It went without complications?"

"I don't know any more than that, sorry. Other than the fact that she must have had surgery. She recovered almost at once."

"Thank you. Keep up the good work." The captain walked the way he'd come. Ben watched Picard until he passed out of sight around a corner. He sat down on the cold stone, put on the headset, took one last mouthful of water, tugged on the gloves, and jacked in once more.

"All sleds -- this is Data. We have rescued and accounted for all captured Starfleet personnel. We have two square kilometers left to cover. Sled pilots in sections one through three, please take your sleds to the staging area, jack out, and beam up for a well-deserved eight-hour rest before reporting to your duty stations. Sections four and five, check your heads-up and proceed. We have approximately one hundred sixty Ba'ku left to account for."

A cheer went up on the shared link. Ben turned down the volume and dropped his sled out of the shaft, then zoomed away through the corridors once more. He was section five, and still working his way through level two.

~^~^~^~^~

Natalia backed the sled out of the blind corridor. A check of the heads-up revealed a well-defined maze of corridors, all doors and dead-ends accounted for. Spinning the sled, she jetted back toward the surface through a shaft, landed the sled in line with the others in the staging area in a field, and jacked out. She was the last pilot still in operation.

She took her time regaining her body. Spending that many hours flying virtual did weird things to balance and coordination. When she came out of the cavern into late afternoon sunshine, she noted that the area designated triage was empty and that Commander Data was powering down the hub terminal. He smiled at her as she approached.

"Excellent work, Lieutenant. You did very well."

"Thanks. Everyone out?"

"The Ba'ku are still counting people, just to be certain. The remainder of the Jem'Hadar enclave are being held pending the arrival of Starfleet support vessels. You look tired, Lieutenant."

"I feel like someone yanked my eyes and brain out and put them in backwards."

Data smiled at it. "That is a very interesting way of describing 'tired.' Would you mind if I filed that for further consideration?"

"Uh, well, considering how tired I am, it's probably not a very. . . coherent, statement." She took a step toward the transport area. "Commander, what about our crew? The rescuers? Everyone okay?"

"Dr. Mengis has opened up all the wards on deck twelve of the *Enterprise* and Dr. Crusher had to do the same aboard *Venture.* We had Ba'ku who needed care. Many *Lexington* crew and Klingons suffered injury, not surprisingly, and many of our security officers. Since Captain Shelby took *Potemkin* on a broad sweep of the area, her own crew escaped mostly intact, except for the security teams she beamed down. Fortunately the most common injuries are the most superficial. There are only fourteen critical injuries that will require a stay in sickbay of more than a day. Unfortunately, there were thirty-nine Starfleet fatalities. I am not certain of the count of deceased Klingons or Ba'ku."

"Where's Captain Picard?"

"His team just beamed out. I believe he is down there, with Commander Troi."

She looked where he pointed and jogged down the hill, slowing to a walk when her legs wobbled too much. Catching up to the disbanding group of officers, most of whom joined cleanup teams in packing equipment back in containers for beamout, she came alongside the captain and smiled.

He turned from the commander, both of them looking at her, and Natalia's gut twisted. Something was off in the way they smiled. She couldn't put a finger on it.

"Hello, Nat," the captain exclaimed happily. He grabbed her arm and drew her into a hug.

Too stunned to say or do anything, she endured it and he let go seconds later. "Uh, sir, you know, it's not -- " She froze when, as she stammered along, he put a hand on Deanna's shoulder, then slid his arm around her.

"Something wrong?"

"No, sir, nothing at all. I'm just disoriented -- after all that time flying the sled."

"Why don't you beam up and get some rest, then?"

"Um. Yes, sir."

"Good girl." He looked at Deanna. "Let's go see if the admiral is all right."

"The admiral?" Natalia echoed, alarmed.

"He was in the last group we liberated," Deanna said. "Wounded. Apparently he was replaced by a shapeshifter and brought here several weeks ago. You look tired, Natalia. Go to the ship now."

Natalia nodded, speechless, and walked up the slope and stood in a ring of enhancers. The captain and commander were going down to the medical tent. Hand in hand.

"Crap in a hat." She tapped her badge. "*Enterprise* -- one to beam up."

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 17

Jean-Luc sent the rest of his team ahead of him. He strode through the corridors, the phaser rifle over his shoulder, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

This was the last group of prisoners they would liberate that day. Judging from the map, there wasn't anything left to be covered. He heard the beaming begin ahead of him at the beamout point. At last, he let himself begin to relax, and as he did so hajira reasserted itself, as he thought of how nice it would be to settle in with Deanna once everyone was back aboard the ship. He hoped they would have enough energy for swapping back rubs before collapsing.

Something was wrong. As he turned his focus to her, he realized that not only was Deanna upset, she was afraid. They had been in the same area, the last block of unsearched corridors, and her last position still showed on the map he pulled from his jacket. Immediately, he tapped his comm badge.

"Picard to Troi," he called, but there was no answer. "Picard to hub. Data, do you know where Deanna is? She isn't answering my hail."

Still no answer.

But the rest of his team had already gone, evidently. He could hear nothing from the junction ahead. Rounding the corner, he found the pattern enhancers in place and waiting, but no attendants. He readied his weapon and glanced around warily. The attendants should have waited. Something not right here.

A spear of terror and pain reached him, an inarticulate pleading, and then it was gone.

Without thinking, Jean-Luc spun about and ran toward what little sense of Deanna was left. If he had come across Jem'hadar he might have run into them blindly. It took several minutes to come to himself completely, to fight down the fear that overtook him and sent adrenalin rushing to hypercharge and propel his body toward hers.

He could smell charred flesh and singed hair and clothing. If that wasn't enough, turning the next corner brought the seriousness of the situation home harder.

Deanna's team this time had been mostly crew, with two Klingons. Both Klingons were dead, no need to check -- when that much of the torso was gone, so was uncertainty. Four officers had fallen on their sides in the middle of the corridor as if they'd just settled down for a nap, but black and purple streaks up the throat and spidering up the face spoke of some form of weapon Jean-Luc hadn't yet encountered. Deanna and two others were missing.

He tapped his badge. "Picard to Dat -- " A squeal cut him off. That explained why no call for help had been issued -- a jamming signal. He was close to the source of it. And it was a new thing -- he had heard Deanna check in not long before his team had headed in for beamout. This had just happened. Pinkish Klingon blood crept along the floor, still oozing copiously from the corpses.

Moving down past the bodies, he closed his eyes. Easier to concentrate on Deanna that way. When he ran up against the wall, he opened them again. It felt like stone, but there had to be something there. Deanna was on the other side. Another projection, but with more convincing holotechnology. He decided to go for help.

Grumbling and grating sounds made him pause -- the projection vanished, exposing a large round door reminiscent of the ones on Deep Space Nine. A heavier, thicker door than any he'd encountered before in this underground installation. What appeared to be one of the Ba'ku, but he guessed must be Verethragna, stepped out. He had no time to do or say anything. Something jabbed him in the back. A glance over his shoulder -- careless. He should have checked the dead bodies more closely. As what had appeared to be a dead lieutenant morphed back to its natural state, it aimed a Starfleet-issue phaser rifle at him. The unarmed one took his phaser, and the two gestured for him to enter the door.

The long, narrow tunnel went on forever. Neither of his captors spoke a word. At the end he was shoved in a lift, and the two Verethragna rode with him for an unknown distance. He couldn't tell which direction the car moved, either. When it opened, he was forced down an entirely-artificial corridor. A ship? The stark black walls and matte gray ceiling were all of metal, he was certain.

And when they stopped at a door, it hissed open, and the one with blond hair keyed in a rapid sequence on a console nearby. The other shoved Jean-Luc through into a small room. A force field, not readily apparent, went back on -- from inside the faintest green glow along the edges of the door was visible.

"Captain," a familiar voice said.

"Mendez?" Jean-Luc found himself looking at two familiar faces -- one of them his own science officer, the other he knew only from the computer database. "Admiral?"

"Unfortunately," Dougherty said wearily. "I am sorry, Captain. Had I known this would happen, I would have never agreed to anything."

"What do you mean?"

The admiral sat on one of the benches along the two longer walls. Jean-Luc sat across from him, glancing at Mendez -- had they replaced Mendez with a shapeshifter, then, and imprisoned the real one here?

"It was supposed to be a simple thing -- help the Verethragna find the remnant of their people," Dougherty said, hanging his head. Bent with elbows on knees, he kept his gaze on the floor between his boots. The uniform jacket was open, his bars were missing, and his short white hair mussed. "They said the Ba'ku were in Federation space. That they had fled here after a war. They told me the Son'a were helping them. I had no idea they already knew where, and that they'd already established a base of operations here."

"It was a lure, to get Starfleet ships into the Briar Patch and test them," Jean-Luc said sourly.

"Yes."

Studying the glassy walls and ceiling, Jean-Luc was reminded of another cell he'd been thrown into with another collection of people, and the deception perpetrated then. He got up and studied the door anew. "I'd say we passed. Or failed, if they were testing for weakness. When did they get you, Ray?"

"On my first foray into the caverns. I've already looked, Captain, there's no way out," Mendez said, watching him feel along the wall.

Jean-Luc schooled himself to not react overtly. He never called Mendez by his first name; there should have been a reaction. In addition, Mengis had seen Mendez in sickbay following the away mission and would have known if he had been a shapeshifter, at least of the Verethragna sort. The recovered corpse showed some extremely interesting properties, but Anij had been correct, they could not alter the whole body, just the outermost appearance.

Unless there were more than one kind of shapeshifter at work here. Unless the Verethragna had made more advances -- and that was possible, given the amount of time they'd had to work toward that end. The Federation wasn't even five centuries old, after all, and they'd progressed rapidly. If not for laws prohibiting such experimentation, the Federation might have been capable of making similar changes in humanoid life forms.

"How long have you been here, Admiral?"

"It feels like forever. I've lost track. They replaced me shortly after I warned you away from the Briar Patch."

"Why did you lie to me about Captain Riker?"

"I intended to pick him up. He wanted to leave the Briar Patch, he didn't like working with the Son'a, and his presence threatened the mission. I couldn't risk it -- there was too much at stake. His attitude would have upset the Son'a and there were too many -- "

"So you *put him off the ship?* Admiral, even if you had thrown him in the brig it would have been too drastic a reaction, but it would have been preferable to endangering lives! I understand his point of view -- you didn't explain anything to him. He had a right to question." Jean-Luc leaned on the wall and looked down at the admiral. "What happened to those shuttles was intentional sabotage. Three people died of injuries that could have been easily treated if they'd been taken to sickbay in time."

"I'm very sorry to hear that. But I certainly didn't do more than disable the propulsion -- I specifically told my people -- one of whom turned out to be Verethragna. Of course. And again, that is my fault."

"I don't think you recognize the full ramifications of this situation," Jean-Luc began, then remembered again that either one of these people might be a shapeshifter. In fact -- he shouldn't have to explain to an admiral with a long Starfleet career what an officer's motivations for questioning a superior might be, in those circumstances. He shouldn't have to explain the ramifications.

"Especially if they replace the captain," Mendez said glumly, picking up where Jean-Luc left off. "With a Verethragna in charge of the *Enterprise* who knows what they could do?"

"Oh, Ray, you know better than that," Jean-Luc said. "Commander Troi would be able to tell the instant the fake walks on the bridge."

"She would?"

Mendez knew as well as any of the bridge crew that Deanna sensed emotions all too well at times. While pregnant, she had been too sensitive and at times coping with the heightened sensitivity had taxed her ability to mask her reactions to what she sensed. This had to be an imposter.

"Do you know of any reason she wouldn't be able to tell?"

Mendez chuckled, sounding too authentic. "How about, he'll look and act like you, and sound like you?"

They probably would try replacing him, Jean-Luc realized. And the instant that struck him, he also realized that imprisoning rather than killing him outright had to be for the purpose of gleaning information to help the masquerade.

Why had they taken his science officer? Out of all the people available? Or was that a random choice? And where was Deanna?

"I mean, she's your wife and all -- but they're shapeshifters," Mendez continued. "They probably have lots of practice mimicking others."

"I suppose that would be enough, if the commander didn't know me so well. And if not for the Aunt Emma protocols."

"The Aunt Emma protocols?"

"Certainly. There has been another time an imposter attempted to board the ship masquerading as me -- that was before your tour of duty, of course, so you wouldn't remember it. But when she was still counselor she suggested precautions, like the Aunt Emma protocols. So all senior officers are briefed in proper use of them. Each time I return to the ship, I have to ask how Aunt Emma is."

"I've never heard you using that," Mendez said.

"The crew isn't supposed to. It's almost as much of a secret as the Muenster Mantra."

Mendez slumped against the wall. The admiral looked back and forth, obviously confused, and frowned. "I've been on a lot of starships, Captain, and I've never heard of any such procedures."

"The *Enterprise* isn't like other starships. We've been through a lot together, my officers and I. We've developed our own way of communicating."

As he spoke, he became aware of Deanna once more -- she was awake and close at hand.

{Deanna?}

{Where are you? It's so good to hear they haven't hurt you.}

{In a room with someone who appears to be Mendez and someone who may be the admiral. I have my doubts. I think the Verethragna trying to get information that will help them replace us more effectively than they replaced the admiral. Obviously, if they had to put all the crew of the *Lexington* off the ship to gain control, they haven't perfected the art of mimicking Starfleet officers. Can you sense anyone else, specifically?}

{Not anyone familiar enough to pick out of a crowd.}

{Does that include Mendez?}

{I would know him. They have one of them in here impersonating you. Very convincing, if he wasn't unreadable.}

{I'm feeding them misinformation about the Aunt Emma protocols.}

{Creative. The crew will figure it out. How did they get you?}

{I was bringing up the rear while my team beamed out. When I got there, the attendants were gone and the enhancers had been turned off. I knew you were afraid, and hurt, and I'm afraid I leaped before I thought it through -- by the time I decided to get help I had found your team, and the Verethragna had found me. Do they know you're an empath?}

"Captain, are you all right?"

Jean-Luc looked up from his sightless stare at nothing. "Yes, fine. Perhaps a bit tired."

The admiral nodded, looking as tired as Jean-Luc felt. "How is your wife, by the way? I had heard she was pregnant."

More proof that the admiral wasn't himself. Ventana hadn't known about the baby until he saw Deanna, and the admiral would have mentioned that, if he'd been making derisive comments to Ventana.

"She's fine," he said, then slid down the wall to sit on the floor. "I hope you don't mind if I rest a few moments -- it's been a very long day."

That gave him a reason to sit with his eyes closed, leaning into his arm, concentrating on Deanna. {Give me an assessment of what you sense. Try to discern how many humanoids in the area, and how many are more familiar to you.}

{Do you hear that?}

Footsteps, heavy ones, sounded outside the door. He looked up as the door slid open and the force field went off. A Tarlac and a Son'a peered in. {You mean footsteps. They opened my door.}

{That means we're down the corridor from each other.}

"Admiral," the Son'a said. The Son'a in general did look as Ro had described -- baggy skin, gray and wrinkled, apparently held up by a metal cap. He wore a uniform, mostly gray with white sleeves and black collar.

Dougherty hesitated. The Son'a gestured impatiently; the Tarlac came in the cell, grabbed the admiral by the arm, and threw him roughly toward the door.

"Leave him alone," Jean-Luc said, putting up token resistance.

"Quiet." The Son'a scowled as he turned away.

"What have you done with my officers? Why are you holding us here? You have to know this will only result in war."

The Tarlac followed the admiral out, the field was re-established, the door closed, and he and Mendez were alone.

"How many of us did they get?" Mendez asked.

"I don't know."

{Jean-Luc, it's just you and me. I don't sense anyone else familiar.}

{Let's see what kind of mis-information we can give them. Wait -- someone's coming.}

More footsteps. The door opened, the Tarlac had come back -- it shoved someone familiar into the room.

When Jean-Luc didn't move to help the facsimile of Deanna, accurate down to the torn, blood-spattered uniform and disheveled hair, Mendez stared at him as if studying the lowest of life forms.

"Commander," Jean-Luc said at last.

She rolled on her side and looked at him with dark eyes -- but he might have been looking at black glass.

{Jean-Luc? Are you all right? What's happened?}

{Your duplicate just showed up. What are you doing to keep mine at bay?}

{Playing officer and being formal. Feigning sleep. What's she doing?}

The shapeshifter sat up and regarded him with skepticism. "Jean-Fish?"

{God! Where did she get that? She just called me Jean-Fish!}

{Could they have made themselves telepathic somehow?}

Jean-Luc continued to stare into the duplicate's eyes. {She doesn't appear to hear what we're saying.}

{Neither does this one.}

{I really hate this. Do you realize how many times I've been captured in the past fifty years?}

{You've only been replaced by an imposter once before.}

{If you're trying to placate me, it's not working. I hate having to pretend -- I always have.}

"Jean-Fish, why are you staring at me?" the duplicate asked.

"Trying to understand why, when you realize that I know there are shapeshifters about, you would attempt this facade."

"Facade?"

"You aren't my officer." {Deanna, the alternative to the theory of their being telepathic is that there has been a covert agent among us. How difficult would it have been to sneak a shapeshifter on one of those shuttles for us to recover? Would you have detected the difference, if you had known to pay attention?}

{I came close enough to all the survivors. . . . Could a shapeshifter mimic a dead person?}

{Founders could mimic inanimate objects. We're dealing with artificially-created shapeshifters patterned after the Founders -- there's nothing that dictates that the one Ben shot couldn't be just an earlier phase of the project. If the Verethragna had access to the computer, even at a low clearance level, they might have learned more about us than we thought -- and ship's gossip could have provided some of the personal information about us.}

{One problem. I don't call you Jean-Fish around anyone but our friends.}

The duplicate stood slowly, as if in pain. "Jean-Fish, I don't know what you're talking about. If this is some sort of joke -- "

"That's part of how I know you aren't real. In this circumstance, my first officer wouldn't accuse me of joking, she wouldn't call me by any nickname, and she wouldn't expect sympathy from me. This is a crisis, we are on duty, and that isn't Mr. Mendez. I refuse to cooperate with your pretense. I'm tired of being manipulated. I want to talk to whoever is in charge, face to face, without the charade."

Both Mendez and the duplicate Deanna stared at him. Then both morphed into two humanoids that he guessed were their natural form -- male and female. One of them touched the collar of his shirt, and a few moments later the door opened again to let them both out.

He sat down on the bench facing the door and sighed. {Cygne? I confronted them, they both left. I'm alone.}

{The duplicate of you has left as well, and -- }

With his eyes closed, he could feel her presence more clearly, and he could tell she was upset. {What's wrong?}

{There's signage on the corridor wall outside, near a computer terminal. It's in Standard English. This is a Federation vessel. I'll bet it's the mysterious *Mirage.-}

"Damn," he muttered aloud.

~^~^~^~^~

Ben made his way toward his quarters slowly. The aftermath of all that sled-flying clung to him, weighing down his limbs and fuzzing his vision. Sickbay, he thought. Should go to sickbay and make sure this was something sleep would cure.

He found himself in a lift without recognition of having entered it. And there was someone here. Natalia leaned against the wall of the car, shoulders hunched, staring at the floor.

"Something wrong?" he asked, clearing his throat to rid himself of frogs.

"Counselor, I'm -- I think -- "

"Nat, come on. I'm exhausted. Don't make me pry it out of you."

"I think the captain and first officer who beamed up are shapeshifters. I think the real ones are still down on the planet."

He hadn't thought it possible, but a jolt of adrenalin proved he still had it in him. Blinking, rubbing his blurry eyes, he straightened and gripped her arm. "You're sure about this?"

"It's the only reason I can think of. . . . They were holding hands, right out there in front of everyone! I came out of the cavern and stopped to say hi to him, and he -- " Her eyes traveled around the car and returned to Ben's face as tears formed. "He hugged me. He doesn't do that!"

"You're sure he wasn't just happy to see that you were all right? I know he's fond of you."

"It isn't the first time he ever hugged me, but he doesn't just grab me and do it in front of everyone! He doesn't hold hands with her in public while on duty. He doesn't relax like that until he's off duty, off the ship, away from the crew. And there's something in their eyes -- I don't know how to convince anyone! They look and sound like them, and I just came from the officer's mess where they're talking to Riker and some of the others, and I've been riding around in the lift trying to figure out what to do. If I said something while they're there, would they kill people? If the admiral was really a shapeshifter and put people off the *Lexington* will these imposters do the same thing?"

"Just settle down, Natalia. Computer, deck five, officer's mess." Ben pondered it for a moment while the lift went into motion. "Let's do this. You say he was more affectionate to you in public -- echo the behavior back to him and see what he does. They obviously don't know everything about them. What else is there that you know he wouldn't do in public? Something the others would know he wouldn't say or do."

Her eyes widened, shimmering with tears, and he knew he was right -- the metaphasic radiation still held sway in her. The extreme reaction wasn't like her. Natalia Greenman didn't cry like this. As he thought of a few answers to his own question, he was shocked to hear her mention one of them.

"Kataan. He wouldn't talk about that. He wouldn't like it if I mentioned his artificial heart, either. But. . . ." A gigantic teardrop dribbled down her cheek. "What if it really is him? What if I embarrass him?"

"What do you think he'd do if it was him, and you explained why you did it?"

"Um. He'd be mad, but -- he'd want an explanation. He'd understand, I think. Because if I'm right his ship is at stake. He would want me to question, he wants me to take risks. . . ." She wiped her sleeve across her eyes. "Damn radiation."

The lift opened. Ben followed her into the officer's mess -- it was as she said, the captain and first officer were talking to a small group of people -- Riker, his girlfriend, and a man Ben recognized only from the database. Admiral Dougherty.

"Counselor," the captain exclaimed -- too brightly.

Natalia was right. Something was off. The question was, had the radiation and exhaustion caused the variance, or did the lieutenant really have some basis for concern?

~^~^~^~^~

Ro entered Ten Forward at seventeen hundred, and looked around for the hostess. She'd just left Desa, Gary and Sarah, who had helped with the rescue effort. Their opinions of the crew of the *Enterprise* had improved markedly. Guinan was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she had the night off.

But there was Geordi, in a corner -- looking like he'd been up for days. Which he might have, she supposed, given the stories floating around about the battle and all the repairs. She went over and was offered a chair, the three young engineering officers with Geordi regarding her with pleasant smiles.

Prophets, it felt good to be accepted somewhere again.

"I guess the captain is making this a hush-hush deal," Geordi said, turning back to the guy on his left. "Figures."

"Well, we got a lot of that in the war, remember. And then that omega thing."

"But this isn't war, Batris," the curly-headed blond girl on Batris' left said. "This was rescue."

"They're saying it's the Randra Alliance," the third, unidentified lieutenant said. "That the Ba'ku were from there."

"That's not confirmed." Geordi sipped his drink. "So, you were on some of the teams, Ro?"

"Three of them. Went in with Troi the second time." Ro smiled bitterly and stared at her partial reflection in the table's shining gray surface. "Guess I underestimated her, like the lieutenant said."

Geordi nodded. "I think a lot of people did. It's not that she couldn't do it -- it was a motivational thing. I wouldn't think she would've wanted it, either."

"Not to mention it wasn't exactly what you'd call the easy way to do things -- captain's girlfriend, then promotion? You'd think they would keep it on the sly until she'd gotten the promotion," the girl said.

"The captain isn't one to sneak around the regulations." Geordi glanced at Ro, then around the table at the others. "He might understand and sympathize with motivations to do it, but he wouldn't condone it. If he'd broken regs because of her, he'd have quit himself, no intervention necessary."

"I'm surprised he's still a captain," Batris said, slouching in his chair and yawning. "But I'm glad he is. I've learned a lot more here than I did on the *El Dorado* -- an appreciation for those in command, for one thing."

"How to fly a ship, for another?" The girl grinned at him. "That last sim on the holodeck you showed a lot of improvement, helm boy. At least you didn't run us into another planet at warp."

"Shut up, Priteri. I wouldn't talk -- you're the poster girl for away team fiascos, after all. 'Oh, what a pretty flower,'" Batris simpered in falsetto, gesturing with his fingers as if picking something. "Oldest dumb stunt in the book. I don't even get to go on away teams but once a year, and even I know better!"

"Well, if Nat weren't so damn thorough with her programs, it would have been just another flower," Priteri exclaimed sourly. "Little miss suck-up. Bet she spends every waking moment dreaming up something else to impress the captain."

"Hey," Geordi exclaimed, frowning. "You just don't pay attention, do you?"

"Sorry."

"Ensign, it's not that I'm sticking up for her or playing favorites -- it's that I used to think the same. If you were command track you'd have rotated out with her, possibly into security, and you might have noticed the change. She's loosened up a lot."

"Since when?" Priteri mumbled, then blushed anew as she realized she'd slipped again.

"Since. . . look, there's a lot you don't know about her. If you gave her half a chance she might even talk to you about it. But it's like anyone with a lot of personal demons -- she took a while to sort things out. The tough part is when you're serving on a ship with other people and you go through some major personal growth, you have to work hard at changing people's first impressions of you."

"Object lesson number two thousand four hundred eighty-two," Batris said, grinning. Since he looked almost Vulcan, it was an odd sight.

Geordi tapped Batris' arm. "You remember what she was like at first -- stiff and too quiet. It made me nervous. I figured out why -- and once we'd sat down with the counselor for an hour and talked it out, it wasn't a problem any more. Sometimes, you just have to let go of first impressions."

"Okay, okay, I get it," Priteri exclaimed, head in her hands. "Give the martinet another chance."

The unnamed lieutenant on her left elbowed her and grinned. "Challenge her to a game of Redman's Folly."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you, Chuck?"

"Hey, even she needs target practice!"

"Break's over," Geordi said, jerking his head toward the door. "Get the aft shields online and you can call it a night." The engineer stayed with Ro as the others left, and finally turned to her.

"So you made it through the day, hm? How's it feel to be back among the uniformed?"

Ro smiled at him. "Felt pretty good. Especially after we were rescued. I guess no one figured out I wasn't just some anonymous crewperson with a rifle."

"Oh, no, I'd say they knew. It's the common cause. Batris and Priteri asked me about you when we first sat down." Geordi studied her. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just a lot on my mind. Is it just me, or does it strike other people as odd that Riker and Crusher are such wonderful friends of the captain's even after the Advent of Troi?"

Geordi lost most of his grin. "Like I was telling the juniors -- people change."

"That much?"

"There's no way it could have stayed as it was. The captain's always had a lot of dedication to his career, that hasn't changed, but other things. . . . I don't know if I could explain it to you. It's not really something you can describe."

"Just something you can see." Ro leaned, elbows on the table and arms crossed. "I think I can see a little of it. I'm starting to see what you mean about Deanna. It took a while. Watching her tote around a rifle and shout orders in Klingon is just a *bit* startling."

"I know." Geordi toyed with his cup idly, spinning it in place on the table.

"Why are you frowning?"

"Just. . . something. The captain came through engineering to see how repairs were coming along."

"So? Sounds reasonable to me."

"No, it's not that. I just can't figure out why he'd ask me how my Aunt Emma was doing. I don't *have* an aunt named Emma."

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 18

The door opened again. So did Jean-Luc's eyes, just in time to see Natalia thrown into the room. They didn't give him much time. It was like they expected him to accept a constant flux of roommates as something that normally happened in captivity. So far, he'd seen his entire senior staff, Will, Bell, even Beverly and Tom. What the hell were they doing? They couldn't think he'd believe any of them were real.

"Crap in a hat," she muttered, picking herself up.

"You have that much right. What else were you going to try to convince me you're the lieutenant?"

"Sir?" She brushed off her uniform and straightened her comm badge. The gesture reminded him that his own hadn't been taken -- nor had they taken it the first time he'd been captured.

Then it struck him -- they had successfully jammed the comm signal. The comm relay had been there, in the junction with the pattern enhancers. They could have jammed communications and scuttled the whole operation before it began.

He'd wondered about the minimal casualties -- with that many Jem'hadar, there should have been more, and more wounded. The odds hadn't been good, which was why such elation had followed, all the cheering on the comm link; everyone had known they came out of the operation very fortunate not to have lost more people.

Suspicions crept in, half-formed theories, accompanied by plenty of anger. Jem'hadar needed no reason to fight, simply orders. Starfleet officers needed a reason. They'd been given a reason, one that even the Fleet Admiral had concurred with. Rescue fellow officers and the defenseless Ba'ku from a pointless situation.

But there had to be a point. There was always a motivation. No one set up an outpost like this and bred war slaves for no reason.

Natalia interrupted his musings. "Maybe we can get out of here. Maybe. . . ." She scanned the walls, spied the vent high in the wall, and jumped on a bench to get a closer look.

"Too bad you're not a Founder. You could melt through it."

She snorted. "Yeah, that would be nice."

"So where were you, that you got captured?"

"Looking for you, of course. Where else? You think I could just go and leave you sitting here, after what happened on Telix? You think I'd go to all that trouble and nearly get killed myself, just to see you vanish here?"

Natalia wouldn't know that. The memory wipe had taken care of that. He stared at her, trying to think of how the shapeshifters could have found out about it, and came up with one undesirable and unpleasant conclusion. Ro had been taken down with a neural paralyzer to the back of the neck, as he had been on Telix. Could this be a situation manufactured solely to take revenge on him, as had the one on Telix?

What the hell had he done, or would he do, to merit such drastic measures? Was this the situation in which the telling incident would occur? Would he be the catalyst for some dire event --

No. Can't think that way. He had to deal with the present, as it was, and find a way out of this.

"Natalia doesn't know a damned thing about Telix. Who are you?"

She leaped down and faced him, a disgruntled look that didn't suit Natalia at all on her face. "Out," she said. The door opened, and Natalia shimmered even as she strode from the room.

Jean-Luc sighed and tried again to sort through the events of the past twenty-two hours. The Ba'ku had been taken prisoner, marched into the caverns, and held in small groups. Was that because, as Data assumed, they wanted to prevent mass rebellion, or was it to keep Starfleet occupied for a long period of time? The away team he had been on had been tossed in with the Ba'ku. As Anij had observed, if they hadn't wanted them to interact they wouldn't have put them in there to begin with. No Verethragna had spoken to him except in the guise of other people. One of them had died in the cavern pretending to be him. On the face of it, that might seem like an attempt to replace him then and there, but the nature of the shapeshifter's body had told the doctors that long-term, replacing someone believably wasn't likely to happen.

They knew Deanna wasn't flying a sled. They had observed everything that went on throughout the battle. They had to have sensor equipment everywhere -- they could've jammed communications.

It had to be a very elaborate scheme. It could be nothing else. And now he doubted Anij, because she had been under duress in the village. She had still been under duress in the caverns. Legions of Jem'hadar had been sacrificed to convince Starfleet they were fighting a real battle.

What if they *had* surpassed the abilities of the shapeshifter killed in the skirmish? What if that incident had been planned to make them believe they were less capable than they were?

{Deanna, we have to get out of these cells.}

{I've been thinking about that. If this is a Federation vessel, there will be certain constants. Even if it's nothing like any ship we've ever seen, they can't have re-engineered everything down to the door locks.}

{Force field.}

{Is it? Or do they want us to think so? The ones in our brig are audible.}

Rising, he went to the door and tapped it with a finger. She was right. {You're thinking along the same lines as I, aren't you? That the entire battle was engineered to make us believe we were accomplishing something?}

{You're thinking too much again. Be careful about your assumptions -- I don't think they could have predicted everything we did. Get out of the cell first, examine motivations later. I don't sense anyone near -- they're busy with something else.}

They had taken his phaser, but the compass still lay in the bottom of the holster. He opened it and thought about the schematics of the door mechanism, studying the apparently-seamless wall. The only break in the surface was the edge, where the wall ended and the door began. With a thumbnail he cracked the compass open, lifted off the top casing and the glass, picked out the needle, put the rest back together and dropped it in the holster. The needle was made of some old metal alloy; it was flat enough to fit in the crack if he worked at it. The controls were usually at about hip-height. When he'd worked all but the last millimeter of the needle in, he wiggled it slowly down until it wouldn't move further, then shoved it the rest of the way in and hoped the end had gone in toward the front and not bent in a different direction. If he'd chosen the right spot it should trigger the relay behind the manual 'open' control on the panel.

The door opened.

He stared at it a few seconds, not quite believing it, wondering if it had been that easy because their captors intended it to be, or if they'd really not thought this through. Deanna had said no humans in the vicinity, though. This might be a Federation vessel under alien control and they probably didn't understand well enough that they'd see through the fake force fields.

Slowly, he stepped out into the corridor, looking both ways, and froze when a door on the other side opened. He almost laughed when Deanna stepped out while pulling her hair up and re-fastening it. She met his gaze with laughing eyes.

{Hair pin. How did you?}

{Compass needle. That was too ridiculously easy. Do you think this computer will recognize us as crew in the absence of other Federation personnel?}

She moved to the panel opposite and touched the keypad. Stepping silently as he could, he glanced around warily and joined her.

{The *Mirage.* This is Starfleet -- but it wasn't in the registry. Special ops?} Her fingers tapped in commands rapidly. {Crew of twenty, all human -- I don't sense any though. Life readings. . . . Only six, humanoid, unidentifiable by the computer, all on the bridge. No brig -- that would explain why they were holding us in such low security rooms. Looks like the ship has been modified to include more storage space and extra computer components -- look at all this! The transporter has an extra pattern buffer and extra relays, the communication system's rigged differently, the sensors have -- this kind of range isn't possible. Geordi would love to see this!}

{Damn this situation. What the hell are they up to?}

{We'll find out what's going on.} She touched the back of his neck affectionately as she sometimes did when they were alone, then frowned. {Jean-Luc? What is that?}

Her fingers had found a bump on the base of his skull. He hadn't felt anything, but now that she pressed it, he could tell something was there. She pulled him down to examine the spot.

{Something under the skin. Very tiny, about the size of a grain of rice. A medical scan couldn't have detected this?}

{Perhaps if they knew to look for it. The last scan was a rather hurried one, and I think Mengis was looking at the effects of radiation rather than searching for implants. Which has to be what it is. They must have put it in when they -- }

He paused, leaning on the wall for support. That had to be it.

{Jean-Luc?}

{They stunned me the first time they captured me. Then they put me in that pen with the Ba'ku, overnight. I had the oddest dream -- that must be how they got information on the people they imitated, and how they believe they'll mimic me accurately. I dreamed about Telix last night -- and when the shapeshifter pretended to be Natalia she mentioned the incident!}

{And Natalia wouldn't remember it, so they had to have read it in your dreams? Perhaps the implant stimulates the memory and reads the resulting dreams? So they could harvest enough of your background to replace you? That would explain the imposter using one of my nicknames for you.}

{The parade of people I knew must have been an attempt to stimulate and read reactions from me.} He rubbed the back of her neck, sliding fingers through her hair. {They knocked you out, too, didn't they? And there it is, under the skin in the same place -- but you haven't slept and dreamed, have you?}

{Maybe that's why they're leaving us alone right now. They're waiting for us to go to sleep. The technology isn't advanced enough to pluck out memories -- they might have been trying to and failing. It probably works best to stimulate the sleeping mind and gather all data, because when we're awake our conscious thoughts interrupt too often.}

Reining in fury, he turned to the panel and tapped controls. {We're going to sickbay and remove these things. After arming ourselves. We're going to take this ship and get back to the *Enterprise.* And then we're getting some explanations.}

They moved through the ship quietly, located a weapons locker, armed themselves with hand phasers, and found the sickbay empty. While Jean-Luc searched through the bins and shelves, Deanna wandered out of the main room. He gathered the required tools for removing the implants -- a small scalpel, a regenerator, and some anesthetic -- and turned as Deanna came back.

"I found -- what's wrong? Dee?"

She looked pale. "Come look," she said hoarsely.

He went with her through a secondary ward, then through another door into a smaller room. The ship's morgue, he realized, noting the wall of stasis tube doors. But the bodies were on the floor. Six Starfleet officers, all with purple tracks like spider webs up their necks and faces, all in a different style of uniform. Black unitards, no emblem, no visible comm badge, but the cut of the neck and the boots were the same.

"Get a tricorder." He turned one of the men over. Unseeing blue eyes, with burst veins, stared up at him. Deanna returned with the tricorder. "This is what happened to your group -- do you remember?"

"I wish I could -- we came around the corner and were confronted by three Starfleet personnel. I didn't take it for granted that they were what they appeared, but as I asked for identification someone started shooting from behind. I ordered a defensive ring but we'd lost one of the Klingons, and the other turned berserker, charging down the corridor, and then there was a flash. I woke and found myself being helped down that long corridor, they half-dragged me into the cell I was in, and that's all I remember."

Jean-Luc studied the readings. "I wish we had a doctor here. The energy discharge that killed them wasn't concentrated, like phaser fire. A single electromagnetic pulse, at very close range, traveling along the nervous system. Like they were enveloped then shocked from all sides at once. We need a better scan than this."

"Maybe we do have a doctor," Deanna said. "Computer, activate emergency medical hologram."

"State the nature of the emergency," a female voice said smoothly. They turned to find a simulacrum of a familiar person smiling at them.

"Good God, it's *her*!" Jean-Luc blurted, forgetting for a moment what was going on.

"Captain," Deanna said reproachfully. "Doctor, we need to know how these people died."

The hologram tilted her head and ran fingers through her curly brown hair. He'd been acquainted with the details included to make the EMH realistic as possible, but that gesture shocked him. She knelt and held out a hand; Jean-Luc passed her the tricorder. After a few moments of study, she shook her head. "The energy discharge resembles nothing more than the electrical impulse that fires from one neuron to the next in the humanoid nervous system. Only it can't be that -- this was much stronger. I'd need one of these bodies on a biobed for a detailed analysis."

"How long have they been dead?" Jean-Luc asked as the EMH waved the tricorder over the others.

"These were all killed in the last five hours, within a few minutes of each other -- this one by a blow to the head, struck after the shock. The doctor. The engineer. The security officers, both of them. . . this is the entire crew, except for the captain and first officer, according to computer records."

Jean-Luc exchanged glances with Deanna. "Doctor, we have a medical matter for you to attend to, then I'd like you to perform a full autopsy on these people."

"Are you assuming command of this vessel, Captain Picard?"

He did a double-take at that -- but the EMH was an extension of the computer, so of course she would know. "The former commanding officer is no longer aboard, correct?"

"Correct. But there is no indication that he has been incapacitated, or that he will not return."

"What is the commanding officer's name?" Deanna asked, heading out of the morgue.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you that." The EMH pulled a body by the arm, then draped it over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, lifting it easily. Jean-Luc followed her into main sickbay. The EMH was a manifestation of a subroutine in the computer. A back door into what was obviously a vessel full of classified technology, perhaps?

"I'll have to take command of this ship," he said, mostly to Deanna. "We can't let it fall into the Verethragna's hands."

"I don't think so, Captain," the EMH replied superciliously, flopping the body down on a bed. "You don't have clearance. No authorization codes, no -- "

"Can you remove the implants from the backs of our heads?" Deanna asked.

The EMH left the body and picked up a sensor wand Jean-Luc had left out. Examining each of them in turn, she nodded and picked up the scalpel. In moments she had both implants out on a tray and both wounds healed. And itching -- Jean-Luc refrained from scratching and watched the EMH. She carried the tray across to a familiar device, slid the tray in, and studied the circuitry.

"It appears to be a monitor of some sort. A neuro-synaptic relay."

"And?"

"Sorry, you don't have clearance."

"Computer, deactivate EMH!" Deanna exclaimed, and raced forward. The hologram disappeared. Deanna put the implants in a container and tucked them in her jacket. "How do you feel?"

Jean-Luc took a step, then put out a hand to lean on the edge of a bed. "Dizzy. The implant was doing something, wasn't it?"

"We can have Dr. Mengis autopsy these bodies when we get back to the ship. In the meantime -- "

"It's obvious the crew was killed by those shapeshifters. Safe bet they're trying to figure out the ship's systems and get around the security measures that are thwarting us -- "

" -- and we should take advantage of the moment to take the ship back from them. If the EMH still operates for us, despite our lack of clearance -- "

" -- so should the rest of basic ship operations." Jean-Luc stared at her. "It was interfering with our thought processes, wasn't it? Slowing us down, not enough to be noticeable, until we removed them. . . . They had that kind of technology available to them."

Deanna glanced at the microscope, eyes troubled. "I don't think so. I think this ship is full of technology that flies in the face of every law we have regarding tampering with the natural order of things. Before I took the implants out of it, I glanced at what was on the 'scope display. Some of the notations were in Standard."

"That was Federation tech -- " He couldn't continue, for the outrage he felt.

"It was, and I think we need to move on, before we're discovered. Computer, activate emergency medical hologram."

The woman reappeared. "What did you do that for?" she snapped, glaring at Deanna.

"Doctor, there are no crew left aboard this ship. Are you certain we can't override and get clearance to lock the aliens out of the ship's systems?" Deanna asked.

"I don't think so," the hologram said, smiling smugly. He remembered that smile too well.

"This ship is being held by alien forces, the same ones who killed the crew," Jean-Luc exclaimed. "Are you saying that there is no way for an unassigned Starfleet officer to gain access to anything beyond basic controls? Not even to lock out the intruders?"

"I'm sorry, Captain. But that's the way it is. I can't help you -- unless you have injuries to tend to. Which I can see that you don't."

"This is a Federation vessel obviously operated by Starfleet -- this defies rational explanation. Computer -- are there any officers left aboard this vessel, aside from myself and Commander Troi?"

"Negative." Same voice as the *Enterprise* computer used. Friendly, helpful and businesslike.

"Then I'm assuming command of this ship."

"Picard, Jean-Luc. Captain. You are not authorized to proceed. Initiating failsafe procedures."

Deanna looked alarmed, turning to the EMH. "What failsafe procedures?"

But the hologram, even as it opened its mouth, faded out of view. Jean-Luc snapped, "Computer! Abort failsafe procedure -- specify!"

"Unable to comply," the computer said -- in a mechanical, androgynous voice. The default of any computer core before the extensive interfaces were loaded.

"Computer, what failsafe procedure just ran?"

"There are no failsafe procedures."

"Computer, identify the two officers standing in sickbay," Deanna said.

"Unable to comply."

"Then what are you able to do?" Jean-Luc exclaimed.

"This unit is a standard MXVXIII dual-core -- "

"Cancel that! Core dump. It's gone back to defaults -- we'll be lucky if it has any ability to control the ship's systems. We should -- "

They stared at one another for long moments.

{It was too easy to escape. It would be too easy to watch us. They are on their way to get us, if they're paying any attention. They must have killed the crew because they would not cooperate, they couldn't get past the computer security protocols, so they let us escape to figure it out. Cygne, there could be a shapeshifter in here masquerading as anything.}

"We need to get back to the *Enterprise,-" Deanna said. "We need to find out the truth of this situation. Why this ship exists. If Command has anything to do with it."

Jean-Luc glanced around the room and spied a device on the floor in a corner, laying on its side and propped against the wall as if thrown there. He went to pick it up. About the same size and shape as a tricorder, it would have passed for one if not for the labeling. The programmable touch screen had been altered. As he palmed it, he noticed it was heavier -- something had been added to it, and the casing altered to accommodate. Deanna, sensing his interest, came to look at it.

She touched the casing, then tapped a nail on the control labeled 'detect.' {Perhaps the crew bought enough time to work something up to help themselves, and couldn't use it?}

"This tricorder seems to contain information on the deceased," Jean-Luc said aloud.

"The other one we were using was running low on the battery -- let's take this one. And at least we'll have some information, hopefully enough to identify the officers and notify their families." Deanna checked her phaser casually. "Let's go to the bridge."

Jean-Luc turned away, pulling his phaser as he closed the tricorder, and thumbed the 'detect' tab. He continued the turn, following through, managing to aim the tricorder at every corner of the room. He expected it to somehow indicate a shapeshifter in the guise of one of the inanimate objects. That didn't happen.

In the corner at the opposite end of the room, a shimmering silver humanoid form appeared.

Both of them fired simultaneously, both bursts of phaser fire struck dead-on. The shapeshifter performed one fluid arc to the center of the floor, then fell in a heap of dry flakes.

"Why do I think these won't be as difficult to kill as the Founders?" Deanna asked, looking at her phaser. "That was a low stun."

"Take nothing for granted. We've seen two stages of development of shapeshifter, the near-solid in the caverns, and now this one. There may be other stages afoot." Something else caught up with him. "Dee. . . they had to have replaced us with imposters already. My team wouldn't have beamed out without me."

"I think what has happened here is the opportunistic maneuvering of someone who's been found out before they could put their actual plan into practice," she murmured. "The crew of this ship was killed, the crew of the *Lexington* is victimized -- Starfleet personnel may have started an investigation of the planet and its inhabitants, stumbled across the real intent of this place, the installation, lost control of the situation, and now the shapeshifters and Son'a are doing their best to take advantage. With the implants they're doing a better job than they did with the *Lexington.* I think this is a series of improvisations to make the best of this."

"We'll just have to put a stop to it, won't we? Let's go see if we can't liberate the bridge."

She followed him, letting him sweep the corridor with the modified tricorder. "Dr. Zimmerman must be recruiting for models for his EMH program -- I wonder if he's asked Beverly? Of course, she'd never agree -- she hates those things."

"Beverly would have made a better choice of model. Even Mengis would have made a better choice." Phaser ready, he strode down the corridor in the direction of the bridge.

"Just what do you have against Dr. Pulaski, anyway?"

~^~^~^~^~

"Admiral, this is Lieutenant-Commander Davidson, the ship's counselor," the captain said.

Ben shook hands with the bearded, grandfatherly admiral. "I understand you were replaced by a shapeshifter," Ben said. "How did it manage to make the masquerade convincing enough to pass muster with the officers it came into contact with?"

"It was frightening, really," the admiral said. He gestured at the table, where the rest of the group sat, and took the chair he'd risen from. "They had a cunning device that sifted through my mind for details. It was a long, lonely captivity until the captain found me."

Natalia had retreated inside herself the minute she'd come through the door. She sat between Riker and Troi, at the end of the table nearest the replicator; her brown eyes flicked from one face to the next until the admiral's comment about being in captivity. She stared at him but a few seconds before she recovered. The look she gave Ben said something else had provided another clue.

Captain Picard sat at the end opposite Natalia, pondering his beverage, and it took a little thought for Ben to recognize that the oddity of it lay in the way Picard sat. The captain had a notable poise that set him apart -- that poise was absent now, his shoulders too lax, his smile too constant. Ben got coffee and took a chair two places down from him, on Bell Sumner's left. He glanced at the admiral, seated directly across the table, and back at Natalia.

"I'll bet you're looking forward to seeing Yves again," Natalia said, splitting a look between Troi on her right and the captain.

"Of course," the captain said. "We always look forward to seeing our son."

Ben almost dropped his cup. Always? He looked around the table -- Riker flinched and put a hand to his head, shook it off, and regained his pleasant smile. The admiral's face had fallen slack. He noticed Ben's look and smiled faintly, then sipped the beverage he had appeared to forget until then. Troi hadn't lost the smile she'd had all along.

"Or your daughter, Meribor?" Natalia asked. The casual comment fit in seamlessly.

"Of course."

This time, Riker winced. Within seconds he smiled again.

"Are you all right, Will?" Bell asked. She searched his face, as Ben did from over her shoulder; he shrugged and shook his head.

"I'm fine. But bone-weary -- let's call it a night. See you all tomorrow." He rose, and Bell seemed quite happy to follow him from the room. She looked just as tired.

"Your doctor was really quite thorough," the admiral remarked, turning to Deanna. "One would think he was suspicious of us."

"He was. We can't be too careful, with the possibility of shapeshifters," she said.

"You're absolutely right, Commander," Natalia said. "I mean, what if one of them tried to imitate you like they did the admiral?"

"I think our crew is smart enough to know the difference," the captain said. He smiled fondly at Deanna. Too fondly. "It would be difficult to imitate Dee."

"So we're just waiting for backup to arrive, and leaving the Briar Patch?" Ben asked. "What did the Verethragna want? What did they hope to accomplish with such a poor attempt at imitating the admiral?"

"I'm sorry, Ben, but we can't really talk about the particulars. It's turned into a classified situation," the captain said. "You don't have the clearance. By the way, how is your aunt?"

"My aunt?"

"Certainly. Aunt Emma?"

Ben waited while shock passed through him like slow ice, hoping the gooseflesh wasn't noticeable. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. Maybe it was possible that the situation dictated the classified status of the mission. Maybe the captain was exhausted and this would be temporary, and after a night's sleep it would go back to status quo. But what would explain the captain's sudden use of that old joke, completely out of context of the conversation? Aunt Emma was one of Deanna's object lessons -- she used it on the cadets to demonstrate that things weren't always as they seemed, a lighthearted way of getting the point across. Natalia had told him about it in a session after making a passing reference to it. It took the cadets weeks sometimes to figure out what the joke was all about.

"Fine, sir. She's fine," Ben managed at last. He glanced at the admiral and at Deanna, and decided this wasn't safe. "Natalia, I just realized -- we missed an appointment in all the excitement. Let's go look at my calendar and reschedule it. And then I think you should get some sleep -- if you're piloting us out of here tomorrow I'd appreciate that."

It didn't seem to phase the three -- admiral, captain and commander smiled at them and wished them a good night as they left with their cups in hand. In the corridor Ben massaged his temple and wished for a rested mind and a looser set of shoulder muscles.

"You see what I mean?" Natalia mumbled.

"Yes. And you saw Riker's reaction, when the captain made the comment about Yves?"

"He should have reacted. But it could be that he and Bell are just as tired as the rest of us. It could all be nothing but exhaustion and paranoia on our parts. Except for the part about Meribor, I'd assume the same about the captain."

"Or it could be that Riker's also been replaced. We need help. Sickbay first, for a stimulant. It could be exhaustion and paranoia all the way around, but if it isn't -- we can't risk it. Our commanding officers wouldn't want us to. And confronting them here, by ourselves, is too dangerous. We're calling deLio and Carlisle."

~^~^~^~^~

"I examined all three of them," Mengis said. His gruffness, though typical of the doctor, irritated Natalia. "All of them tested normal."

At least sickbay was nearly empty, with only a few sleeping patients and a single nurse on night watch. "What tests did you run?"

The counselor looked askance at her. "Nat -- "

"It's important! What tests?" She leaned against the biobed. Now that she'd had a stimulant and her eyes didn't ache, she could manage some of her security officer sternness.

"Blood tests. DNA." The CMO's hard green eyes accused her. "There is nothing to indicate that one of them might be a shapeshifter."

"You didn't happen to notice if the captain had a pulse? They must've paid attention to behavior, but would a shapeshifter have thought about mimicking an artificial heart?"

She noticed, out of the tail of her eye, Ben's surprised expression. Mengis' hostility abated. "You know about that."

Natalia rolled her eyes. "He scared me to death with it, thank you very much. Seeing him unconscious and checking his pulse nearly gave *me* a heart problem! Can't we just sneak up and check with a tricorder when he isn't looking?"

"If he's really a shapeshifter, we can't afford to make him suspicious until we have security in place," Ben said. The stimulants had done him a world of good as well. Both of them would be useless when the drugs wore off, but hopefully this would be resolved before then.

Mengis surrendered a medical tricorder to Ben. "It would be less suspicious if someone other than a doctor did the checking. I doubt you will prove correct, but I imagine you will only drag other officers into this if I don't let you indulge your paranoia."

"Thanks." Natalia led the way out of sickbay, glancing at the counselor's face -- he still believed. At least she had one officer on her side.

deLio was on his way to sickbay to meet them, and stopped in the corridor as they emerged. His droopy, impassive face gave away nothing -- that was normal. "You have enlisted the doctor, I see."

"Just a tricorder," Ben said. "We're going to check the captain for an artificial organ. If it's there. . . ."

"If it's not there we'll know it's a shapeshifter. If it is, we'll have to try something else, until we can verify he's authentic." Natalia saw the flicker of doubt in deLio's eyes. "Commander, please. I can't make assumptions -- I have to know. He will understand why I have to do this. He wouldn't want us to risk the ship when there's any doubt."

deLio nodded stiffly. "Computer, where is Captain Picard?"

"Captain Picard is in his ready room."

Ben blinked. "If he were the real thing, why wouldn't he be in bed, or at least spending time with his wife? Computer, where is Commander Troi?"

"Commander Troi is in her office."

Natalia stared at deLio. "She never uses it on duty. Why would she use it now?"

"You said we were suspicious of the captain," he intoned.

A lift opened down the hall to Natalia's left, and here came Carlisle, yawning and angry. "What's going on?"

Squaring her shoulders, Natalia faced the second officer and put on her best official face. They needed senior officers who believed them. deLio and Mengis weren't paying attention. "Sir, we have reason to suspect the captain and first officer have been replaced by shapeshifters. The counselor and I have seen both of them acting out of character."

Ward grimaced. An instant of panic gripped her, but then the usually-jovial second officer nodded. "The captain tried the Aunt Emma thing on me. Geordi said he did the same thing -- I checked with engineering before going off duty. He seemed as puzzled by it as I was."

"He did the same to me," deLio said, drawing a look of surprise from all of them.

At the attention the L'norim took a step backward. "I asked him why he did so. He did not answer. I assumed it was simply another quirk of humor I did not comprehend."

"If there's any question of his identity, the captain would want us to pursue it," Natalia said.

"Is that why the medical tricorder?" Carlisle asked. The lift opened, attracting the group's collective attention.

Captain Glendenning hurried toward them. "This better be damned good, Greenman. I was *almost* asleep."

"You called Captain Glendenning?" Carlisle exclaimed.

"Riker, Troi and the admiral are all suspect as well." Ben shifted his weight uncertainly in the face of Glendenning's obvious ire. "And we're having trouble convincing our own senior staff."

"Of what?" Glendenning exclaimed.

"Shapeshifters," Natalia said. "We think they replaced the captain, the admiral, Captain Riker -- "

"Didn't your CMO and his staff check everyone as they beamed aboard?"

"I know, sir, but they aren't behaving right. They aren't themselves."

"We're going to need a reason to show up in his ready room," Ben said. "And one that makes sense for this combination of officers to appear."

Glendenning's dark blue eyes glinted. "What's the tricorder for?"

"We think the shapeshifter wouldn't know to mimic an artificial heart. It's got DNA and blood type right," Natalia said. When the captain's ire didn't dissipate, she went weak inside -- what if she were being a little too pushy? Too paranoid? Glendenning seemed to be searching her eyes for answers.

"Give the tricorder to me," he snapped. "I'll go in. Greenman will come with me, you three will wait outside as backup. I've got an excuse for you."

He took the device and strode off, leaving them to follow.

The beta shift consisted of three officers still repairing systems. They glanced at the entourage and went back to work without questioning it. Carlisle, deLio, and Ben stopped before reaching the door. Glendenning jabbed the annunciator and strode in when summoned, the tricorder running silently in his hand. Natalia went after him. The doors closed.

She felt for the phaser she'd tucked in the back of her pants, wrapped her fingers around the grip, and, as she'd practiced in deLio's drills, thumbed the setting without looking -- to stun. It was already there but she wanted to be sure.

Glendenning underwent an amazing transformation -- the captain suddenly had his usual free-swinging manner, striding casually across the room to the desk. "Jean-Luc. I see you're having a bit of trouble unwinding, too."

"I wanted to see what happened to the ship in my absence." The captain indicated the monitor with a glance. "It was quite a battle."

"That's what I understand. I have a hypothetical question for you -- my FCO's one of the casualties of the day, much to my regret. I've been impressed with your lieutenant here and offered her the job, but she seems to think she has some obligation to stay here."

The captain turned from his monitor and settled forward, crossing his arms on the desk. "Did you want this transfer, Nat? I'd be sorry to see you go, but I'd understand it if you did."

Her first impulse was to tell the truth, deny, dodge out of it, but the presence of Captain Glendenning at her side, his sleeve brushing her shoulder and reminding her of how much taller he was, brought her back to the task.

"Since you're not staying aboard, sir, I think I would like to. But you didn't say how much longer you would *be* aboard -- if it's going to be months, or. . . ."

Those hazel eyes meeting hers were his. The deep, measuring look was her captain's. For a moment all her suspicions went away and she wanted to take it back before this went any further. Glendenning stood like an oak tree beside her; she drew on his calm. In a moment, Captain Picard would deny that he was leaving, and make her look like a fool. Glendenning would scowl at her. The whole thing would turn out to be nothing, and --

"I appreciate your loyalty," Captain Picard said. "When we reach the starbase, I will be taking leave with Deanna, then going back to Earth. She will remain aboard. There's no reason for you to put off a transfer, if that's what you want."

She wanted to sink through the floor. Scream. Cling to Glendenning's sleeve and cry. She managed to sound wobbly but more or less normal, in spite of it all. "Thank you, sir."

"See you in the morning, Jean-Luc." Glendenning smiled at her as he turned. "Wasn't so bad, now, was it?"

"No, sir." Natalia backed out of his way, managing to keep her back partially turned to conceal the weapon and using Glendenning as the reason. She gave the captain a parting smile as she sidled out the door.

deLio and Ben waited expectantly. Glendenning raised the tricorder to study the results. "That wasn't a bad improvisation, Greenman. What made you think of it?"

"I just imagined the last thing he'd do and reversed it. He wasn't -- isn't -- leaving the ship."

"Well, I hate to say it, but it looks like he already has." Glendenning turned the tricorder so she could see. "Artificial heart accounted for -- they thought of it. But it's not him. You said Riker, too?"

"We suspect. Not as strongly, though." Ben glanced at the two officers making repairs on stations at the back of the bridge. "If he's like the Founders, how do we subdue him? We have to find the real officers, too."

Natalia watched the captain thinking. He could be as controlled as Picard. "We need a way to tell real from fake," he said. "Have to have a way of proving they aren't who they appear to be. You said the doctor checked blood and DNA. We need one of them alive, to analyze further. Cut one from the herd and study it, then we'll know better how to apprehend the others. We'll start with Riker."

"But we're not sure about him," Natalia said.

"Which is why we'll start with him. If he's the real thing, he'll help us. For now, we're keeping this on a need-to-know basis. deLio, get yourself an engineer and rig a couple cells in the brig for holding a shapeshifter or three. Greenman, get me a phaser."

"How did you know it wasn't the captain?" Natalia asked. "Even if he did say he'd be leaving, he acted pretty convincingly."

"Let's just say I gave him a clear signal that he should have seen, and didn't."

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 19

They waited outside the bridge for a span of heartbeats, then simultaneously leaped through the doors as they opened, snapping their phasers out before them. Jean-Luc took an accounting of the group -- three Son'a and three human-looking people who must be Verethragna, at various stations. All of them froze and stared at the two Starfleet officers. The bridge was that of a Defiant-class, matching the basic layout of the rest of the vessel.

"They got out," the only woman said, glaring at her companions. "I told you, we should have--"

"Quiet," one of the men said. "Captain, I suggest--"

"Were I interested in suggestions, I would have requested them. What I want are answers. Why don't you all move away from the consoles and sit right over there, on the floor?"

The group slowly obeyed, the Son'a glancing at the other three for guidance. "We can't leave the helm untended for long," one of the Son'a said.

Deanna moved around the bridge while Jean-Luc saw to it their captives settled on the floor out of arm's reach of anything. He sat in the captain's chair and held his phaser on them. The tricorder, still running in 'detect' mode, showed no hidden shapeshifters, and he'd been careful to turn in a complete sweep of the bridge on the way in. Nudging it surreptitiously, he tried to aim it at the door behind them, just in case.

{We're running cloaked, and in a standard orbit around the planet.} The red glow of the patch cast orange highlights in her hair as she moved to another console and sat down.

"Question number one," Jean-Luc said. "Your objective in capturing us. Was the entire situation, from the emergency beacon forward, all engineered just to bring us here?"

Sullen, downcast expressions all the way around.

"All right. I'll answer it for you. You wanted to manipulate us here and challenge us repeatedly, until we either failed or you had an opportunity to replace us with shapeshifters."

Still no reaction. Deanna glanced over her shoulder. {They're very hard to sense. Nothing more than a vague sense of presence from them. The Son'a are frustrated and afraid.}

"The admiral is part of the plan. This ship was his. He and the replacements are on the *Enterprise* now, and are about to be found out for what they are--because you would never be able to fool our crew."

"Arrogant," one of the men spat. "We *will* succeed. We are succeeding!"

"With making a very large mistake--if you're going on the assumption that what I dreamed last night will help you, you're wrong. It will be your downfalling."

Now they stared in surprise. "What you dreamed were your memories," the woman said. "There is no way you could have deceived us. We even have enough to mimic the woman--"

"Quiet, I said!" The same man--the blond seemed to be in charge.

"You have enough to make my crew suspicious, and when they finish reasoning it out, they'll take back the ship. They'll do whatever they have to in order to capture the imposters."

"You're lying, trying to frighten us," the blond exclaimed. "We *will* succeed!"

"You'll fail. Commander, hail the *Enterprise.*"

"You can't do that!" The blond leaped up. Jean-Luc stunned him, keeping the beam on him until he fell, head striking the chair at the helm. He didn't stay down long. Crawling back to the others, he sat again, rubbing his head and glaring at Jean-Luc.

"Please," the woman cried. She leaned forward, reaching out a hand. "We are the only ones left. Your ships destroyed our fleet--we didn't believe you would be able to destroy us that way."

"We fought in self-defense," Deanna said. She searched, bringing up screen after screen of text with taps of the keys. "We hailed your ships repeatedly. No one responded. Why were you attacking us?"

"We were following orders."

"Sir," Deanna said, looking up at the viewscreen, "the collector they parked in a low orbit is beginning to open."

"Can we get a closer look at it?"

Deanna moved the *Mirage* closer and pointed the nose of the little ship at the collector. It was, indeed, slowly opening a pair of sails. They formed immense golden crescents on either side of the main body of the collector. She flew closer still, adjusting the sensors until the latticework of girders around the main fuselage were discernable.

"What is the function of this device?" Jean-Luc asked, looking at the prisoners. None of them offered an explanation. "Commander?"

"An analysis of its structure seems to indicate that it's primarily a collector, but could also be an emitter. It's orienting itself on the planet. I'm routing the data to your terminal. At least the sensors appear to be cooperating, for the moment."

He glanced at the display on the arm of his chair. Sobering. There was the possibility of the complete destruction of the planet's atmosphere, judging from the readouts. "This vessel seems to be standard Defiant-class--we should have the usual weaponry. Target the collector, single spread, quantum torpedoes."

"Wait," one of the prisoners cried. "You can't! The--"

"Quiet!" the blond one shouted.

"Why can't we?" Jean-Luc demanded. "Are you going to tell me this thing's purpose? Give me a good reason not to destroy it."

"We can't let them destroy it, Dhanij," the woman said. "It's our only hope."

"If we can use the collector to collect and dissipate the metaphasic radiation slowly, we may be able to help the Son'a and the Ba'ku," the third Verethragna said. He seemed sincere, his dark eyes appealing to Jean-Luc for mercy. "We've been studying the rings and the radiation for the past three years. We can help them, if you'll let us."

Deanna looked over her shoulder, her eyes grim. She didn't believe him, either. And half a thought about what he and Deanna had just been through, the ships, the battle in the caverns, the ignored attempts to negotiate, would have been enough to tell him that Anij was right--they would only negotiate when it suited their purposes.

"Fire," Jean-Luc said.

As Deanna turned back to the board, the blond Verethragna glimmered, morphed into a silver mass, and arced through the air at her.

Jean-Luc took aim and fired. Stun had no effect. He succeeded only in making it angry enough to bounce off the back of Deanna's chair and redirect toward him, but in those seconds he adjusted the phaser and fired again.

The silver stream collapsed in the center of the bridge into a spreading puddle, then flattened into the carpet. Deanna now had her phaser on the others, who glanced back and forth nervously. Jean-Luc stood and prodded the puddle with his toe, pushing up a few flakes.

"Now that we know stun doesn't work, we won't have any trouble keeping the rest of you in line, will we?" he said. "What is the collector for?"

More sullen looks.

"I assume 'stun' works on those of you who aren't shapeshifters?" Deanna asked coldly. "We don't have time for this. Answer the question or those of you who can be stunned will be, and those of you who can't, too bad."

"We were going to collect the metaphasic radiation from the rings," another of the Son'a blurted.

"And do what with it?"

"Use it to regenerate ourselves," the third Son'a said. "We tried to come home, after the Verethragna led us away years ago. The Verethragna kept us from it, and claimed the Dominion War got in the way--if we came here while there were so many Federation and Dominion forces in the area, we would only give away this location and others would take advantage of it. So we waited until after the war, and tried staying on the planet but in two years we haven't seen any results--if we concentrated the radiation somehow it might--"

"What do the Verethragna get out of this?" Deanna's tone hardened with each successive question; she must be sensing various reactions from the group that angered her.

"They want revenge," the first Son'a said begrudgingly, giving in at last. "They were subjects of the Ba'ku's experiments hundreds of years ago. They've been forced to live for centuries, incapable of having children. Their original goal was forcing the Ba'ku to reverse what they did. They found that the Ba'ku had given up most technology for a simple life, and approached them in the guise of another humanoid species."

The second Son'a picked up where the first left off. "The Verethragna established the base in the mountains two years ago, after the Dominion War concluded. They planned to use it as a lab for breeding the Jem'hadar to strength in Federation territory. They brought us here when the Ba'ku began refusing to help--there were many more Ba'ku when they started, but rebellions began, and many were killed for disobedience."

The apparent leader of the Son'a pursed his thin, gray lips. "The Verethragna cannot be trusted, we were told. We were asked to watch them, to be certain they do not betray--"

"If anyone would betray, it would be you!" the woman cried, leaping to her feet. "Anij said you were not trustworthy." She shot a worried glance at Jean-Luc and dropped to her knees again. She and the Son'a leader eyed each other warily.

{The Son'a are lying. I can't tell about the others.}

Jean-Luc gave it another moment, then said, "You have obviously been told the Federation is an enemy. We've tried repeatedly to make contact with someone who had the power to stop the violence and received no reply. We're trying now to make some sense of all this. Who is in charge? Why are you aboard this vessel, which is obviously Starfleet? What is the admiral doing, and who is he doing it with?"

The woman stood up again, hands spread and out, and he kept his phaser aimed at her while Deanna covered the others. "Your admiral came to us and said the Federation knew about this place. He said Starfleet would invade, and that the Randra told them all--that the treaty between the Randra and the Federation was conditional."

"They told us no Starfleet we saw could be trusted--the admiral said that only the small vessel doing the survey of the sector could be considered friendly. And in the end even they turned on us!" the other Verethragna said. "We cannot trust them either, Gin'orin. You should not be telling them anything."

"Gin'orin," Jean-Luc said. "And the other one was Dhanij. . . are you related to Di'orin and Anij?"

"Their children," Gin'orin said.

"You are all children of the Ba'ku," Jean-Luc exclaimed, not believing his ears.

Gin'orin indicated the man on her left. "This is Zejef. Sojef's son."

"Whose idea was it to do this? Why would anyone do this to their own children?"

"For the good of all. The Randra were trying to annex us into the Alliance. The Dominion were the only ones who could stop them. No one opposed the Founders. To be like them would have kept the Randra at bay. It didn't work--we cannot link, and we revert to this form." She gestured at her body. "But we can mimic one of you completely, by taking a sample of your tissue and mimicking the genetic code--it takes a few hours to complete that process but it is possible."

That gave Jean-Luc further pause, but he could question that later. They were cooperating, for now. "So, are you, or are you not, members of the Randra Alliance?"

Anger showed on the Verethragna's faces. Gin'orin blurted, "No! The Randra decimated our world, made us nomads."

"We should not be talking to them," a Son'a whispered.

"The captain has done nothing but ask for an end to the pretense. He could have killed us all, he only killed in defense of the commander."

"Our orders were based on the idea that the Randra Alliance had somehow managed to gain a foothold here," Deanna said. "That they were planning an invasion from here. You're saying that isn't so. This means that not only have you been misled, our superiors at Command have also been misinformed."

"How long has the admiral been here?" Jean-Luc asked.

"At least a month," Gin'orin said. "He talked only to Anij. He said very little to any of us. He came here alone, in this ship."

Deanna glanced at Jean-Luc. "There have been different stories told--the version Anij told the captain puts the blame on the Verethragna and Son'a. I suggest that we work together to find them, and that we put aside our suspicions of each other."

"So you are all that is left of the Son'a and the Verethragna," Jean-Luc half-asked. "Because of Anij, two Verethragna are on my ship pretending to be myself and the commander--is the admiral also a shapeshifter?"

"The admiral is himself," Gin'orin said. "Anij and one other are taking your roles."

"Will you help us?" Deanna asked. "Could you believe that the Federation would help you, if you asked for it? Do you think Anij could be convinced that we would help if she would only be honest and stop playing these games?"

"We trusted Anij--we would not trust her again." The Son'a stood up, straightening his uniform. "At this time we have a common foe. We can discuss help and trust when Anij is no longer a threat. Gin'orin, we can set aside our differences until this is over, yes?"

Gin'orin stood and morphed her plain Ba'ku clothing into a Starfleet uniform. "I am beginning to doubt whether they were differences, or just an imagined conflict perpetrated by more of Anij's lies. It would be easier for her to manipulate people in conflict with one another--no one would know the truth of the other person's thoughts that way. Commander Troi, I apologize to you for my part in this. I wish now that I had disobeyed orders and answered your attempts to make contact with us."

"So do I," Deanna said wistfully. "We may have spared lives spent unnecessarily that way."

"Does that collector present a threat?" Jean-Luc asked.

The other Son'a stood up, and Zejef followed Gin'orin's example in change of uniform. "It will deploy itself within four hours. Anij told us the planet would be evacuated to the *Enterprise*--though now I wonder what she really plans," one of the Son'a said. "I have to wonder if the collector will work as she says, as well."

"The collector will destroy the planet's atmosphere," Zejef exclaimed, hardening with anger. He leaned away from Gin'orin's gaze. "I am sorry. She made me swear--she told me I would be the one who. . . . But her promises mean nothing, don't they?"

"Anij probably knows that if she destroys the planet, the Federation will never be able to understand the radiation's effects in time to save the Ba'ku," Jean-Luc said. "We've never seen an environment like this before. Would it be reasonable to assume she's perpetrating this complicated maneuver solely to cover her tracks completely and disappear? She didn't care if the ships were destroyed, she doesn't care that she's manipulating and killing Federation citizens. She could be eliminating anyone who knows enough about her to be dangerous, by playing us off each other and creating animosities where none should exist."

They stood a few moments in silence. On the viewscreen, the collector fired a few maneuvering jets and started to orient itself on the planet. Jean-Luc met Deanna's gaze across the bridge, and suddenly, puzzle pieces began to fit together. Anij's warning, the first time he'd spoken to her. The maze they had been put through prior to capture. Anij's tired skepticism when he offered Federation help. The attitudes of the Ba'ku--resigned, not confused or frightened. Anij's sorrow as she told yet another story of how the current circumstances came about. The presence of the *Mirage* and its accessibility via a tunnel and a lift. The recent demise of her crew. The apparent squabbling in a group who had previously been working together to deceive the officers with whom they now seemed willing to cooperate. And that deception had been for a definite purpose--to facilitate the replacement of himself and his first officer.

{Commander, we have no time for discussion--but Aunt Emma protocols are in effect. They're only trying to confuse us further. All bets off until the final hand is played. Keep your phaser on kill.}

She turned back to the helm. {Aye, sir.}

"How can we do this?" Gin'orin asked at last.

"First order of business," Jean-Luc said. "Destroy that collector. Second, we go after Anij."

The former captors-turned-captives-turned-allies hurried to stations around the bridge. Gin'orin sat at ops near Deanna.

{Target the power source on the collector, and angle impact so that it's pushed out of orbit. Minimal damage. Fire a spread over the top and detonate nearby. Then get us out of here, before they realize we haven't destroyed it completely.}

"Firing two quantum torpedoes," Deanna said. {Photon torpedoes, actually. If I'm guessing correctly--the interface seems to have gone mostly blank on the panel.}

{It probably happened when the computer initiated the failsafe procedure. By the way, you're sitting at the helm.}

She shot him a glare that might have scorched off the rest of his hair as she rose and hurried back to tactical, displacing the confused Son'a standing there.

~^~^~^~^~

He was a glutton for punishment, that's why. Or so Ben told himself as he approached the guest quarters assigned to Riker, William T. and Sumners, Christabel S. When the doors opened and a bleary-eyed captain in a robe confronted him, he wanted to run for his life.

"Hi, Captain. Sorry, I didn't realize--a bunch of us were wound up and couldn't sleep, so we got together a poker game. Captain Glendenning said you might want to play."

Lame, but he didn't seem to suspect. He posed, one hand on the back of his head and elbow in the air, frowning -- then blinked, did a double-take, and smoothed his hand down his neck.

"What the hell?" he muttered, prodding. "There's something--what is this? Bell, c'mere a minute and check--sorry, Counselor, not interested. Good night."

The doors closed. Ben retreated. Glendenning, waiting around the next corner, gave him a questioning look. "Sorry."

"Hm. Perhaps a more direct approach." The captain tapped his phaser on his arm, chewing his mustache. "Okay. I've got it. Wait here, and cover me." He handed the weapon to Ben and strolled for the other captain's door.

"Cover him--I'm supposed to *listen* to people, not shoot them," Ben grumbled, putting his back to the wall and peering around the corner.

When the door opened, Glendenning got a very different welcome. Riker burst out of the room, holding something Ben couldn't see in his hand. "Look at this! Bell just took it out of my neck!"

Glendenning picked a tiny item up and studied it. "Counselor, come here."

Ben came around the corner. He ignored the stunned look on Riker's face and peered at the piece of metal between Glendenning's thumb and forefinger.

"What did he say that made you suspect him?"

"It was his reaction to something Captain Picard said, actually. The captain said he always looked forward to seeing his son."

"That's a curious way to phrase it," Riker said.

"And his daughter," Ben added.

"Does he have a daughter?" Bell asked, genuinely confused. "You've never mentioned her, Will."

Riker's intense, inward-looking expression indicated a lot of thinking going on. "The closest thing he's ever had to a daughter was due to an experience he had with this probe. . . ."

"Meribor," Ben said. "She doesn't exist. It may be a breach of privacy on my part, but this is an emergency, and I don't have any doubts that the captain would want me to take advantage of it to keep the ship safe. The captain we have on board is an imposter."

Riker scowled. "I remember him saying it. I remember thinking nothing was wrong. Feeling that nothing was wrong. Why would I do that?"

"Where did we meet, Will?" Glendenning closed the item in his fist.

"That encounter on the Romulan Neutral Zone, right before the wedding."

"At the bar."

"No, in a meeting. There was no bar."

"Sure there was. At the reception Picard had, on the holodeck. I was making passes at Troi, remember?"

"Tom, are you feeling all right? Bellamy was making passes at Dee, you walked out with Bev."

"Okay, what was Bell wearing?"

"Her green dress, the short one with the straps--what are you getting at?"

Glendenning slapped Riker on the shoulder. "Just checking. Counselor, of the three suspects, the admiral, captain and first officer, which do you think is in charge of the situation?"

"In charge?"

"There are three of them that we know about." Glendenning tucked the fist holding the device behind his back. "The lieutenant gave me reason to believe the admiral's not what he seems to be, and if they're going to replace the captain they'll have to get the resident empath off the ship, too. Which one of them seemed least likely to be the ring leader of this little effort?"

"I have no idea."

"Are you saying that Captain Picard and Commander Troi have been replaced by imposters?" Bell asked. "Everyone was subjected to medical screenings. That can't be possible."

"Anything is possible, m'dear. My hunch is that it's the one imitating Troi. To keep up appearances, the admiral wouldn't stay aboard, and the captain said he'd be leaving the ship--"

"Jean-Luc wouldn't abandon ship, not now," Riker blurted. He ran his fingers through already-disheveled hair. "Why would he?"

"Another bit of info in favor of the imposter theory. And an indicator that this little device you had in the back of your head was suppressing your reactions. They're learning. I have the feeling their numbers have dwindled to the point where they can't risk alienating the crew, the way they did on the *Lexington.* Get dressed, we're going to talk to the first officer."

~^~^~^~^~

Ro followed the doctor's general order, issued via the computer to all crew when they entered their respective domiciles -- don't forget to eat. Though she didn't need the encouragement. The drink she'd had in Ten Forward wasn't enough.

She took a big bite of ratamba stew, which she'd replicated only because she didn't trust the computer's version of hasperat, and found it to be the best stew she'd had -- that perception was likely due to the fact that she hadn't had any in years. Caradassian prison rations and the things she and her friends had grown on their ersatz colony just didn't measure up. The tuwaly pie was good, but not as good as the stew. She alternated bites of pie and stew, chasing it with synthetic spring wine. While tucking stray bits in her mouth and dabbing some of the juice from her chin with a napkin, she happened to glance up from the table just in time to see a tiny flare against the Briar Patch, somewhere on the other side of the rings.

While pondering whether or not to report it to the bridge, she caught another flare, out of the corner of her eye. She swallowed quickly and dropped her fork. Someone was materializing in her quarters.

That wasn't possible. The shields were up.

But there was the captain, armed with a big nasty phaser rifle and a tricorder.

He stood looking at her as if waiting for a response. She looked back, waiting for him to do something.

"Computer," she said, voice trembling -- she hadn't recognized her anxiety level had been that high. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "Computer, where is Captain Picard?"

"Captain Picard is in his ready room and on deck seven, section ten, cabin six."

"He's a fake, Ro," the one standing in her quarters said. "I've been held on that elusive ship we were looking for."

"Why did you beam in *here*?" she exclaimed.

"Because I had to go by life form readings. You are the only Bajoran on board at the moment. You were the only one whose identity I could be certain of. We have been pawns in a larger game, a conspiracy, and your initial guess was correct. There are Starfleet officers in the mixture, but some of the other pawns have run amuck--the rules are changing as we act and react. I don't know all the details yet, but with your help, we may be able to liberate the Ba'ku and save ourselves."

"You couldn't just zero in on a comm badge?"

"The computer on the *Mirage* is experiencing difficulties--we had to use a tricorder to find coordinates to put in the transporter. The ship itself is right out there." He pointed at the viewport. "Deanna's holding two shapeshifters and three of the Son'a at the moment, under the delusion that we believe they're cooperating with us. Computer, where is Commander Troi?"

"Commander Troi is in the briefing room on deck three."

"Let's go. After you arm yourself."

She balanced on a dilemma--was this an imposter? "Prove you're not a shapeshifter."

"How can I do that? Should we fall back on shared experiences? There weren't so many conversations of a personal nature to recall telling details from--not so many details of missions that wouldn't be available in the logs. . . . Ah. The Lysians. Remember MacDuff?"

"Yeah, what about him?"

"Not about him. Remember what happened between you and Will? That's not in any official log, I'd bet."

She jumped to her feet. "How did you know about *that?*"

"I guessed. Body language can be telling. I saw some looks between you that told the tale."

"Okay, so am I alarmed right now, or what?" she stammered.

He sighed. "I'm not in the habit of revealing personal details for no reason, you know. I'm here to take back my ship. Are you going to help, or do I have to stun you so you won't alarm the crew into thinking I'm an imposter? I'd much rather not have to shoot you, Ro."

Ro shrugged. "I've gambled on slimmer odds before, and at this point I've got nothing to lose. Why her first?"

"Because I have the element of surprise. Confronting myself wouldn't give me that advantage."


	4. Dreamers of the Day

Progress lies not in enhancing what is, but in advancing toward what will be.

~ Kahlil Gibran ~

  
You must be the change you wish to see in the world.

~ Mahatma Gandhi ~

  
All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes, to make it possible.

~ T. E. Lawrence ~

  
~@~@~@~@~

 

Chapter 20

Jean-Luc tucked the rifle under his arm and passed the detector to Ro to hold while he used the ordinary tricorder he'd brought to reprogram his comm badge. Any inquiries of the computer as to his location shouldn't be able to find two captains. A question from the wrong individual might bring the whole operation to a regrettable conclusion all too swiftly.

{Dee, I'm reprogramming my badge. I suggest you do the same. Two of each of us would confuse things and give us away too quickly.}

{What to? I'm not going to presume you'd feel comfortable hailing Deebird over the comm system.}

{I'm using something I'll answer to quickly--Kamin. How about Dena?} The nickname given her by close friends and family back on Betazed wasn't used among the crew.

{It'll do. I'll try it in a moment.}

There weren't many crew about, and the few they did see appeared to be too tired or too busy to react much. When he and Ro left the lift on deck three, he said, "Computer, list occupants of the briefing room on this deck."

"Captain Glendenning. Captain Riker. Commander Troi. Lieutenant-Commander Davidson."

He glanced at Ro. "This could be more complicated than I thought. But, once more unto the breach. Keep the phaser out of sight, you're my ace in the hole if anything goes amiss."

"Dena to Kamin."

Ro did a visible double-take. Smiling, he traded with her, tricorder for detector, and said, "At least some of those lessons you had from Data on the technicalities of communications equipment did you some good."

"Did I ever say otherwise?"

"Ro and I are going in. Sounds like Glendenning and Riker have your twin cornered."

"She isn't my twin. Be careful, Tom's jumpy."

Jean-Luc paused at that. "Noted." {Recording?}

{Yes.}

He nodded to Ro and led the way toward their destination. They came around a corner to find deLio and Natalia standing outside the door. Both of them raised phasers.

"Watch," Jean-Luc said. "My Aunt Emma got sick and died. Did she die?"

Natalia wavered. "How's Meribor?"

"Non-existent. Have you found your copy of the handbook yet?"

She exchanged a look with deLio, lowered the phaser, but still studied Jean-Luc with healthy skepticism. He wondered what the imposter had been up to. When she darted forward and hugged him, he stiffened and shoved her away.

"Lieutenant!"

"Okay, it's you. How did you get here? You're all right? How's the commander? Is she--"

"She's fine, I just beamed aboard, and I'm going in. You've got one of the shapeshifters in there, I have this. It will make things much safer." He held up the detector.

"They're just talking to her. Trying to decide whether she's an imposter or not."

He and Ro went inside without announcing themselves and stalled Riker in mid-sentence. All his attention went to the shapeshifter, who looked exactly like his first officer. She smiled at him. "They think I'm a shapeshifter. Isn't that silly, Jean-Fish?"

Looking at her, angry at the glassy shallow eyes and the usurping of Deanna's position, at the whole damned situation and what it had cost them, he smiled and strolled along the table, the rifle balanced over his shoulder casually. He put the tricorder on the table out of her reach. Riker and Glendenning were sitting on the other side, with an empty chair between Glendenning and the imposter. Davidson sat four chairs away near the door, behind Jean-Luc.

"It's very silly. Almost as silly as accusing me of being one," he said lightly. He rested a hand on the back of a chair and formed a sign he knew Tom would recognize. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tom's response, as the other captain put his hand on the table to form the affirmative.

Jean-Luc aimed the detector at her and pushed the 'solidify' control. He hadn't tried this on the ones on the *Mirage*--no way of knowing if they would feel it and react, and there had been five people versus himself and Deanna. It behooved them to keep up the pretense of believing in the complicity of their "allies."

"What is that?" she asked. She didn't appear to have felt a thing. Maybe it didn't even work. Maybe the *Mirage* crew hadn't gotten it to work. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

He brought the rifle down and leveled it at her nose. "My Aunt Emma got sick and died. Did she die?"

She sighed. "Oh, please. Not that."

"I beamed over from the *Mirage.* I found the crew, all dead, and I found out that they were killed because they tried to defend themselves against you. Who are you, why are you enslaving the Ba'ku, and what does Starfleet have to do with it?"

The imposter flailed an arm, then stared at it as if it hadn't performed as expected. "What did you do to me?"

Sitting on the edge of the table, he held up the modified tricorder. "Solidify. I don't know how long it lasts, so I've just left it on."

The poor imitations of Deanna's eyes went flat. She stared at him, looked down at her hands, flattened them on the table palms-down, and stared at Tom.

"Who are you?" Jean-Luc asked.

She appeared to have been turned to stone. Under her intent gaze, Tom shifted in his chair. Jean-Luc kept the phaser pointed at her head. His concentration almost broke when Tom asked, "Who were you?"

It did break when the shapeshifter answered in a flat, even voice. "Emily Forbes." Jean-Luc stared anew at the woman who looked like his wife.

{Jean-Luc?} It startled him. The open channel--he'd forgotten too easily that Deanna could hear it all.

{I know. Another surprise. We have too many of them going, and no time to discuss them--keep recording.} He stared at Tom now, silently demanding answers of him. {What about your would-be crew?}

{I'm turning off the bridge speakers and leaving the recording going. Let me know if you need me.}

Glendenning's blue eyes were wide with shock--and, for the first time since Jean-Luc had met him, he seemed terrified. He covered it quickly, gripped the arms of the chair, turning it slightly away from Riker, and focused on the woman who looked and sounded like Deanna, but didn't act like her.

"Report, Commander."

~^~^~^~^~

Ben couldn't quit second-guessing--was it or wasn't it Captain Picard?--until the complete distraction of finding out the shapeshifter had a Terran name.

With that revelation, he even forgot the phaser Ro Laren, standing with a shoulder against the wall, held behind her back, not half a meter from his ear. With the next surprise, Glendenning's recognition of the person to whom the name belonged, he couldn't take his eyes off the two officers.

He had questioned the expression of emotion on the parts of the shapeshifters. Knowing that they were intentionally created from previously-humanoid subjects, he wondered if the process wouldn't have removed the mechanisms by which said emotions were created, the complicated physiological underpinnings of a normal humanoid psychology. The even, emotionless tone and slack face seemed to verify his theory. It would make for a fascinating study--how did personality and other intangible aspects of a human being function in absence of emotion?

Glendenning waited. They all waited. Emily didn't twitch for an unnatural length of time--no human could sit so still for so long. The huge dark eyes, now lacking anything that might be construed to be emotion, remained focused on Glendenning.

"What happened here?" he asked. "Why was I called here?"

"I called you, sir."

Glendenning shot a disbelieving look at Picard and looked the woman up and down. "You're Admiral Dougherty?"

"The admiral is dead. I borrowed his form to request your ship specifically."

"Why?"

Her mouth opened, air hissed out, and her eyes never left Glendenning's. It seemed to take effort to speak. "I needed help. I turned Badb. The mission should have been aborted. Captain Middleton is insane. Something went wrong. The admiral called Command for support--he did not use the proper protocol. I think it was his intent to expose what is happening. It was how I gained the ability to act. The others couldn't, they didn't see--" Her mouth worked at it. "You are a captain, my former commanding officer, I knew you would understand. You were the only other available officer I knew. The person I was would have done something, but I cannot."

"Why?" Picard asked--more of an order than a request. He'd relaxed his stance, balanced the rifle across his lap instead of aiming it now that she seemed willing to talk. She ignored the question.

"What did they do to you? And how many others have they done it to?" Glendenning's voice wavered. Very uncharacteristic of him. Ben detected the quaver of sorrow beneath the words.

"There were ten of us. It took them three years of research to create us. It took four months for the transformation to be complete. Only four of us achieved the desired result--they cloned the Jem'hadar from prisoners taken during the war, then they untangled the genetics for the cloaking ability and added it to our makeup. The four of us could go undetected as long as we didn't take solid form. The other six weren't completely changed. Two died at completion of the process. Four were partial successes--one died in the tunnels, to mislead you."

"What about the others?"

"I do not know. I know that three of the complete transforms are here, myself and the two masquerading as the captain and the admiral. One was on the *Mirage* with the three partial transforms, the ones who proved unable to cloak themselves."

"That accounts for all of them," Picard said. "It doesn't account for why this was done."

"Computer," Glendenning said, rubbing his mustache with a finger, "define 'verethragna.'"

"The Persian god of victory and the personification of aggressive triumph. He punishes the evil done by man and demon. Verethragna appears in many shapes: bear, bird of prey, bull, camel, youth, warrior with a golden sword, or wind."

"Punishes, hm? Who were you engineered to punish, Emily?"

Ben couldn't keep up. He glanced around at the others. Riker had an incredulous expression; Picard's face had gone to cold anger and disbelief. Emily the Deanna clone sat like a statue and didn't answer.

"Are all the stories we've heard about the Ba'ku false?" Picard asked. She didn't twitch. Long moments passed.

"Answer him," Glendenning said. "In fact, tell us the whole story from the beginning. Who are the Ba'ku, why are they here, and how are they related to the Son'a and your mission?"

"The Ba'ku are from Akkian Prime. We knew this from outside sources. Captain Middleton researched their origins after discovering them. They were difficult at first," she said. "The collector was their invention. They discovered that concentration of the metaphasic radiation resulted in longevity and seemed to actually reverse aging. The captain found them during the Dominion War, while investigating possible locations for a Section base of operations closer to the wormhole. A civil war was in progress between the Ba'ku and the Son'a over the planet; the Son'a are as they are because they were driven away over a century ago. Deprived of the benefits of the radiation, they atrophied to the point at which you see them today, and came back for revenge on the Ba'ku, bringing with them Tarlac and Ellora they had enslaved."

"So the Son'a and the Ba'ku are the same people, but the Verethragna are not," Picard said. Emily continued as if she hadn't heard him.

"The Ba'ku had originally fled from the Randra Alliance, colonized another planet, and were forced to flee again, when the Alliance began to expand their influence once more and nearly decimated them again. Two thousand four hundred sixty-one Ba'ku came to the Briar Patch more than six centuries ago and discovered what metaphasic radiation could do for them, then discovered that it imprisoned them here. But the radiation can only do so much--the law of diminishing returns is at work. As they age, lower levels of radiation become ineffective, so they must find a way to concentrate it. To preserve themselves in their current state, the Ba'ku must use the collector on the rings at least once every decade. The Son'a took the collector from them. The Ba'ku bargained with us to regain it--we could use whatever we wanted of their technology if we helped manage the Son'a. The Jem'hadar we cloned were our way of doing so; we used them to crew the remainder of the Ba'ku fleet, left in orbit all this time but still functional, though some ships had been scavenged to repair others. And while examining what the Ba'ku offered us, the scientists found research further advanced than our own, that led them to the realization that they could engineer shapeshifters. When it was clear what a single shapeshifter could do to defend the Federation, ten of us volunteered."

"Why did the Son'a kill my friends?" Ro blurted. Jean-Luc shot her an irritated glance. "Was that more of your 'protocol' at work? We didn't know anything!"

"What was the Son'a's role in all of this, and were they on your side?" Tom asked. "What about the Maquis?"

"Anij knew we would not approve of the Maquis' presence on Ba'ku. She told them a story she improvised and promised them a ship--she wanted to help them. That was before any of us had made the change, and the captain was furious with her but knew we needed the Ba'ku's cooperation. He capitulated at that time and provided a ship, taking one from the Ba'ku's fleet. After they left, he had the *Mirage* do regular sweeps to monitor them and ordered the Son'a to do so as well. He thought that the Maquis might be useful."

Ro almost blurted another angry question, broadcasting it with a lunge forward as if she meant to march around the table and grab the shapeshifter by the collar, but Tom held up a hand and glared at her. "That doesn't explain what happened to the Maquis colony."

"We used Anij's story, of course," Emily said, as if this were some mundane subject like cooking or gardening. "When they fled we did not know how many Maquis were on the ship or if they might escape. We knew the *Renton* was close by. The captain said it might be an advantage to have Starfleet think the Maquis were the problem. So we kept up the story that Anij told them, so they would tell the Starfleet officers that story. If necessary they could be labeled as liars. If the Son'a did cease cooperating, we could use the story to our advantage. We promised them help with their condition, they were willing to take part, but they seemed to be losing faith in our promise. Their Ellora and Tarlac crews took orders from them well enough that they did not present a risk so long as the Son'a obeyed us. Since Starfleet has now rid us of all of them, there is even less risk."

Glendenning tapped fingers on the table rapidly. Irritated, Ben thought. Possibly angry. "Commander," he began, sitting back in his chair. "Emily. These people, the Ba'ku, didn't invent the Jem'hadar for the Founders?"

"No, they did not. The laboratories and equipment are theirs, but they were attempting to find solutions to their sterility. We used the facility and expanded it to create and house the Jem'hadar. Only enough of them to serve us--we created the majority of the ones you battled today last week, in anticipation of conflict."

"You used us to get rid of them all. Dispose of evidence, and in such a way that it looked like we'd run across someone concealing a war lab." A statement. Ben didn't care for the way Captain Glendenning seemed to know motivations before Emily explained them.

"The arrival of *Lexington* signaled the failure of the project--security was compromised. The crew of the *Lexington* was a risk. The captain minimized the difficulty by taking steps to ensure obedience and decided that the crew would be taken to the facility for conversion, furthering the Verethragna project. He killed the admiral for bringing a ship of the line here so there would not be another call for help. The *Venture*'s arrival surprised him; he could only think to send you back to the planet to wait. He thought Starfleet had been overzealous and sent more backup. I was left on Ba'ku to oversee the installation while he and the Son'a combed the Briar Patch for any other unexpected arrivals and retrieved the collector. When I took your away team, I knew a rescue would happen, and that attacks and continued resistance to efforts at communication would result in self-defense. I had to neutralize the security breach. Conflict should have done that for me. The captain no longer adheres to protocol so I must."

"You're the one who--"

"Jean-Luc," Glendenning exclaimed. He had to stare the other captain down. Picard was furious, and from the look on Riker's face, so was he. In the interim, Ben wondered what renegade group this was--rumors of one similar to the Maquis, but nameless and with a lower profile, had gone around toward the end of the war. Some of the less reputable papers had carried stories on them. Fuzzy pictures, giving away nothing, sometimes went with the articles.

Then Glendenning noticed Ben, gave him a piercing look, and said, "Counselor, I suggest you leave. For your own good, really."

Ben looked to his own captain. Picard nodded curtly and jerked a thumb toward the door.

~^~^~^~^~^~

Natalia stiffened, but it was only Ben coming out, looking defeated. "Counselor?"

"Everything's fine, and top secret as usual," he said.

Natalia watched him wander off down the corridor, shoulders sagging, and knew how he felt. They'd *almost* got in on the good stuff. She glanced at deLio and smiled thinly. When *she* was a captain, she'd be involved. No more of this never finding out what was happening.

Chewing the inside of her cheek, she considered it further, thought about the battles of the last twenty-four hours, and decided that, on second thought, it might be best to stick with guarding doors until she had more experience.

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 21

Glendenning ran his fingers through his hair and left his hands cupped over the back of his head. "So the Jem'hadar were used to control the Son'a, Tarlac and Ellora. The Ba'ku were used to cover the operation. When things started going wrong the admiral neglected the proper protocol and the *Lexington* was dispatched. You had to imitate the admiral to summon me. You think I'm going to help you take care of this as per protocol."

Jean-Luc shot another look at Will, who had gone cold sober. The inferences to be made from this were too obvious. Tom was guessing motivations too easily.

"We must neutralize," Emily said.

"Emily," Tom said, as if addressing a very small child. "What did they do to you? This change--what's it done to your ability to think things out for yourself? Why did you manage to call me but you haven't been able to approach me until I figured out you might be Starfleet?"

The look on the shapeshifter's face reminded Jean-Luc of when non-corporeal entities had possessed members of his crew--flatness, and the impression that a stranger looked through those eyes. "The Jem'hadar are genetically altered to obey the Founders, to worship them, and by association they obeyed the Vorta. The alterations were studied and applied. We could not risk creating another Dominion. Control of the subjects must be maintained."

Tom made a frustrated noise, accompanied by running his hands through his hair again. "Em, if all of you are 'programmed' this way, who's telling you what to do?"

"The captain. He was given less compulsion, more initiative, designed to be the team leader. The admiral said there had been a mistake, just before he died. That something went wrong in the captain's makeup--he has too much initiative."

"Where are the scientists who did this to you?"

"Dead. It was one of our first orders. To test us, and keep the project secure. Once the procedure was recorded and repeatable, we did not need them."

"Tom," Jean-Luc said urgently.

He held up a hand again, forestalling the demand, and looked Emily in the eye. "All right. Let's take this once more, from the top. Just to be sure. The captain comes here during the war and finds the Ba'ku. Someone decides that it's a good idea for the Section to use this location as a secret shapeshifter manufacturing facility, and brings a bunch of scientists to work on the project. So the next thing we know, the project gets away from them, and before long this captain of yours is running riot and the admiral decides to call for backup, only he calls without using the proper protocols to expose the project for all to see, and dies for it. You saw enough motivation in that to borrow on the intent to call for someone you knew could overrule the captain?"

"No." Emily still sat unnaturally still, hands on the table in front of her as they'd been all along. "I knew you would do what must be done. What I cannot do. He must be destroyed, before he compromises security further. You must do away with all evidence of this incident. If he leaves the Briar Patch there is no knowing what he will do next--he is unpredictable. He ordered those left on the *Mirage* to continue the pretense no matter what, and to do what they can to ascertain how well Picard and Troi know their crew. He ordered me to other tasks, and did not specifically tell me to keep things from you, just to mimic Troi--"

"That does it," Jean-Luc blurted even as Will sat up to do something as well. "What is this about, Glendenning? This can't be Intelligence. This can't be sanctioned."

"It isn't sanctioned," Tom said wearily.

"You must destroy all of us," Emily said. "The Ba'ku know too mu--"

"Emily, you *know* this is wrong!" Glendenning jumped up and his hand came down on the table, his chair almost falling in Will's lap. Jean-Luc startled, so did Will, but Emily was still. "Think about this. Would the person you were before this change want *any* of this to happen? Would she want anyone to die? Can you still think like Emily Forbes? Gods, Em, I warned you--I *told* you to turn it down! What the hell did you do this to yourself for?"

"They said the Section existed solely to protect the Federa--"

"DAMN! Forbes. . . ." Tom feinted, caught between Will and the chairs and the viewports behind him but wanting very much to pace and gesture wildly. "If you hadn't joined they would have never bothered you again. Once you're in they dog you--you know what will happen to you!"

"I must die," Emily said, in the same near-monotone, her serenity chilling. "All evidence of this must disappear. Protocol --"

"You are saying," Tom said raggedly, leaning both hands on the table and staring at her with wild eyes, "that a mistake was made while the Section was undertaking some immoral, unethical atrocity meant to perform some task 'for the good of the Federation.' You are saying that now things have gotten out of hand and the crews of twenty-five ships have died, not to mention the crew of the *Mirage* and the various officers who were lost in the rescue effort, not to mention a number of Ba'ku --all because you were attempting in the only roundabout way you could manage to stop the captain before he left the Briar Patch? And on top of that you want *me* to continue the killing?"

"Protocol."

"Not even a Section agent would do this. Not killing on this scale. Not the destruction of Starfleet personnel who have no idea what's really happening. If I give you an order can the captain countermand it?"

"Yes."

"Shit," Tom blurted. "Impossible. All those lives lost, and it's a damned screwup! Emily--you were a good officer! HOW did you get caught up in this? Why didn't you say something before they changed you? You didn't have to let this happen!"

She stared at him impassively. "It was for the good of the--"

"Don't spew their rhetoric at me! It was for the *preservation* of the Federation, and there's been little *good* in it!"

"Tom," Jean-Luc said. It didn't seem to make a difference. Tom's anger wasn't letting him hear--Jean-Luc watched the red-faced captain, and recognized a variety of things at once, foremost among them that Tom felt the burden of guilt. About Emily's role in this? Certainly for her participation in the Section.

"I know you may have meant well but that's how we *all* started out--hasn't anyone ever told you that old cliche about good intentions? You knew better than to think this could be anything but *wrong*!"

Ice water couldn't have given Jean-Luc a chill like the one that swept over him. This could be another deception. Tom normally had more control than this. It might not even be Tom. If they had replaced one captain, would they replace the others? Although Deanna had sensed him before Jean-Luc entered the room, he might actually be somewhere else close by. Was this another layer of deception? He stared at Will, and got a classic Riker stare in return--the cold outrage in Will's eyes was very typical. But was it Will?

{Deanna, can you sense Tom?}

{I was about to ask you why he was so terrified and angry. Very dark and disturbing, the worst I've ever sensed from him. What's going on? I still have the link open and recording but not on speaker.}

{Can you sense Will?}

{Yes. He's also angry. Frustrated. Not as desperately as Tom.}

{Are we all in the same location? Or are you able to tell me that?}

{I think so. If Will was in his assigned quarters and Tom on his ship, I could tell--the distances would be such that I could differentiate.}

{It helps to know you can sense them--it means we're not dealing with another shapeshifter. We've had too many manipulations. Can you sense the shapeshifter?} It became more difficult to tune out Tom and Emily--he was trying to reason with her as a former commanding officer.

{No. I can't sense any of them, they're all blank to me.}

{Then how did you sense the admiral when we initially rendezvoused with the *Lexington*?}

A longer pause than was comfortable. {I didn't sense him. I sensed most of the crew and assumed their fear was crowding out anything else I would have gotten from him. Anyone could tell he was bothered by your line of questioning.}

{You said he was lying about Will's death.}

{Because I would have known if Will died.}

Of course. Jean-Luc returned his attention to the room he was in, pulling back from that issue as swiftly as possible. "Tom," he exclaimed, trying to break through. "She's not capable of responding emotionally. She's not the same person you knew. Stick to the bottom line--we've been subjected to one manipulation after the next, she's explained most of it to us and she's told us the admiral is dead. We have to decide what to do next."

"We still have to find a way to tell a shapeshifter from the real thing," Will said.

"Are there any weaknesses we could use to detect the last few Verethragna?" Tom asked Emily, recovering enough to sound calm and sitting on the edge of the table in a mirror of Jean-Luc's position.

A soft sound of boot on floor told Jean-Luc Ro was still there. He'd forgotten about her in the series of shocking developments. He wondered if Tom knew--he must.

Emily said nothing.

"Let me guess, you're not supposed to tell us that."

"We were not engineered to have weaknesses. We were made as we are to be efficient on top-secret missions, resistant to assimilation, undetectable when necessary, and with a sample of DNA we can, given a few hours to memorize the information, mimic any solid to a cellular level."

An incoming hail interrupted Tom's response. "Picard to Troi."

{Deanna, my doppelganger is contacting yours. Maybe you should turn up the volume now.}

Tom gave Emily the nod while Jean-Luc's silent comment took place, and she tapped the comm badge on her chest. "Troi here."

"The counselor has expressed some concerns--we're in my ready room. Could you join us, please?"

Jean-Luc blinked--Ben had gone in there by himself? What was the man thinking?

"Certainly, sir. I'll be there in a moment. Troi out." Emily stood, obeying the order as she would no doubt be compelled to do.

"Sit, Emily," Tom said, and she did so. "Now what? Can't you keep your officers under control, Jean-Luc? What's the damned counselor up to?"

"He might have been called in there, you know." Deanna's voice over the open link startled Tom and Will. "He's terrified. I suggest a substitution. Will can be in command of the *Mirage* for a while."

Jean-Luc nodded at Will. "Think you can handle that?"

"Of course," he exclaimed, incredulous. He rose from his seat. "But--"

"Lock on to him and beam him over, Commander. Picard out." Putting the rifle on the table, Jean-Luc straightened his uniform. "Someone has to make sure the Son'a and the two shapeshifters still on board don't use that ship to anyone else's advantage. And it's evidence, Will. Be careful not to make them think you believe they're anything but allies, and keep a phaser in hand."

"The ship's probably booby-trapped," Tom said. "You have to be careful not to do anything that might let the computer recognize you as an intruder, which includes Starfleet personnel not assigned to that ship."

"Like trying to officially take command to lock out intruders? Too late." Jean-Luc shook his head.

Tom actually laughed at it, bitter and breathless, as the transporter effect stole Will away. A few moments later, Deanna materialized in Will's place. She came around the table as she spoke. "I gave him a short briefing on status --he asked if I could send over some engineers to work on getting the computer interfaces back."

"No," Tom said. "That is, they won't be able to do anything, and it might damage things further to make the attempt. I can control Emily, and I'd like to talk to her further. You should immobilize the other two shapeshifters. I already had deLio set up cells to hold them."

"Kill them," Emily repeated.

"Not if we can help it, Em. No more killing."

"You are going against procedure. We must--"

Tom leaned forward. "You knew the person you were trusted me, that's why you asked for me. You can't make judgements like that the way you are."

Jean-Luc turned to Deanna, looking her in the eye briefly for verification of her identity. "Take Ro with you as backup--at least as far as the door. Don't give away the game just yet." He took the comm badge from Emily and passed it to Deanna; she swapped it with the one on her uniform. They had used a tricorder to code in a few changes in anticipation of role confusion.

She nodded and left the briefing room. Ro stared at Jean-Luc briefly, shrugged, and followed Deanna.

Tom met his eyes across the table. Long, sober moments passed. Jean-Luc almost tapped his badge, then decided against it. "I'll be right back." He shoved the rifle across the table to the other captain. Taking the modified tricorder, he stepped outside to find Deanna and Ro being held up by security. "Let them go--I should have said something," he exclaimed as Natalia opened her mouth.

"She just passed the Aunt Emma test anyway." Natalia stepped aside and watched the two leaving.

"I have a job for you, Lieutenant. I want you to take this device and have Commander LaForge duplicate it, if possible. As quickly as you can -- we'll need at least three of them. deLio, we need secure cells in the brig that will contain a shapeshifter, also as quickly as we can manage. Five of them if we intend to house them separately. Captain Glendenning has this shapeshifter well in hand for the moment. I will be here, questioning her further--if you need to reach me don't use my name or rank. Use the name Kamin instead. And don't try to contact Commander Troi."

~^~^~^~^~

Ben grumbled to himself all the way to his quarters. Second time that evening he'd begun the process of trying to unwind. For once, he wasn't too upset about being left out of what was going on.

How immature of him to think that. He really was that tired --what a day it'd been! At least the captain was back on board. He'd handle things as usual, and Ben could collapse into bed knowing the commander and captain would be around to make annual reviews difficult.

"Picard to Davidson."

"Davidson here, sir," he responded without thinking about it.

"Could you please come to my ready room? I'd like to talk to you."

All at once, he was wide awake and panicked--the real captain was in the briefing room he'd just left. "Certainly, sir," he managed, prompting a yawn to cover nervousness by merely thinking about doing it. "Sorry, I'm just exhausted, long day."

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I need to discuss something with you as soon as possible. Picard out."

On the way up, Ben contemplated options. He could contact the real captain--but how? He could call security. Would they believe him? Glendenning had insisted this was something to keep on a need-to-know basis. Would calling deLio or Natalia alert the faker somehow? What if he was already on to them? What if Ben walked into a trap? He should arm himself--unless it wasn't a trap, in which case he should be able to fake his way through a discussion with the fake captain and not tip him off that someone knew he was an imposter.

If it were just the imposter attempting to further the deception by doing something the real captain might do, he should go along with it for the safety of the ship. Anything that might tip their hand too soon would result in a shapeshifter on the loose and dangerous. The imposter would be like Emily, with no emotions and apparently no conscience. The captain's imposter would have no qualms about killing everyone who came against him--and Ben remembered too well stories he'd heard pieces of, told by Riker's crew in the triage area while being tended by medical personnel. The shapeshifters had impersonated officers until they'd welcomed aboard a 'delegation' of the Son'a, at which point the transporter room had been commandeered and many armed Jem'hadar beamed aboard. The crew had been taken captive; a number of them had died in attempts to get to shuttles, to communications equipment, and in the act of sabotaging their own ship to circumvent her capture.

How easy it would be for shapeshifters to cause mass confusion, if one were to get loose and change form as it moved about the ship. The thought of what had happened on the *Lexington* coming to pass on the *Enterprise* was too much to bear. He couldn't let the crew suffer that.

On the other hand, if he were walking into a trap, he might die and the imposter might become him. The only consolation he could come up with was that, as counselor, he really had no special access codes that an imposter could borrow on to really damage anything. Then he realized that the imposter may have already gotten into enough of the computer as captain that identity no longer mattered.

He stopped at a weapons locker and blessed the access codes granted to senior officers that allowed him to tuck a hand phaser up his sleeve. It made him feel better having it though he wasn't certain what good it would do him, and if by some chance he couldn't act fast enough to save himself, the firing of a phaser anywhere on the ship would cause an immediate red alert by computer default. Even in a worst-case scenario someone else would know there was something amiss at once.

He only questioned his own line of reasoning when the door was opening, and then he was inside.

"Counselor." The man at the desk turned his chair and folded his hands on the desk. "Have a seat."

Ben did so. The imposter hadn't tried to ambush him the minute the door closed. That must mean Ben's first hunch, that he didn't suspect anything, was true. It struck Ben that the chances of giving away the game were greater if the shapeshifter controlled the conversation.

"I'm still doing that review, by the way," he said casually. "With all that's happened I haven't had time to complete it. The events of the past few days will have an impact, I'm afraid, sir."

"An impact?" Not a suspicious question, a confused one. Ben had derailed whatever it was the imposter wanted. He scrambled for words, quickly trying to improvise.

"Yes, well, you know. The. . . incident. I can't ignore it in good conscience. It'll have to go in my report."

"Incident."

The imposter really did behave convincingly. The hesitation, the expression, the look in the eyes. . . . Ben wondered if he might have been mistaken and this was the real captain, and jettisoned the idea at once. He had to quit that. No matter how alike this one appeared, it wasn't Captain Picard. The captain had been intent on the interrogation of a shapeshifter in a briefing room moments ago. He wouldn't leave that for a conference with the counselor.

"You could have averted this, but you chose not to put her on report. It's too bad it had to come to this, Captain. I've truly enjoyed working with the both of you."

"I haven't filed a report because we're still in the Briar Patch and communications with Command are impossible. And you must admit we've been terribly busy these past few days."

"Are you saying you intend to file a report after all?"

"I would be remiss, as you say, if I did not."

"But that will harm her chances at command."

The sad little smile was so like the real captain. Damn, this guy was good at improvising! "I can't help that. She must stand on her own two feet when it comes to her career. I can only hope her heroism here offsets the incident."

"Which heroism is that, sir?"

The smile vanished. "The rescue effort."

Ben did his best to appear as if he were trying to stifle a wry smile. "The rescue effort that was entirely Carlisle's idea? I suppose she told you it was her idea. She told most of the others the same thing."

He had meant well. He hadn't meant this to happen. But the imposter tapped his comm badge, nearly sending Ben fleeing for the door, and it was all he could do not to move while the 'captain' called Troi in. "We'll straighten this out," he said when the communication was broken. "Would you like something to drink?"

Ben nodded and folded his hands in his lap, trying to think counselor, think normal, think nothing's out of the ordinary here. . . . He focused on not fidgeting. He asked for coffee and didn't taste it once he got it. Why had he thought this would come off well? What would Captain Picard want him to do?

Then Troi finally arrived. Was this the other imposter or the real Troi? Ben couldn't think so clearly any more. He resolved never to improvise again, given the opportunity. Better off sticking to *listening* than opening his big mouth.

Troi looked just like herself. She smiled at Ben briefly and turned to the captain, hands behind her back and standing next to Ben's chair. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"I'd like some clarification. Sit down, please."

She remained standing. "I think we all need rest, Jean-Fish. You look tired."

The two officers, whether one or both were imposters, stared at each other for too long. Ben continued to beat himself up silently for ever thinking he could manage this.

The captain-imposter stood slowly. "I would like to know who thought of the rescue effort on the planet. You had led me to believe it was your idea."

"It was, at first. We all had input as we went along."

"The counselor seems to think otherwise."

Troi studied Ben, her eyes solemn, and he wondered again, was this her? Was it the imposter? She patted his shoulder and smiled reassurance at him. "The counselor is just as tired as we are. He and I argued, you see, and we had a difference of opinion about this--he wasn't there when I discussed the options with the other officers. Ben has always felt left out of things--something I understand, having been a counselor myself for so long and not always brought into the crisis of the moment."

The captain-imposter stood with one hand resting on the end of his desk. He raised his head slightly, like a predator scenting his prey. Was he suspicious? It seemed that way.

Then a page, out of midair, nearly undid Ben entirely. "deLio to Picard. Sir, we have trapped a shapeshifter. It was masquerading as Lieutenant-Commander LaForge and trying to sabotage engineering."

The captain-imposter blinked. "Trapped? How?"

"We tricked it into a force field. We have successfully imprisoned it in the brig, in a specially-modified cell. I believed you would want to see it--I apologize if I have interrupted."

"Not at all, Commander. I'll be down directly. Picard out." He nodded and gestured at the door. "Deanna, if you would come with me? Counselor, we'll have to continue this discussion some other time."

Ben rose as if to leave, wasted a few seconds straightening his uniform, and managed to still be inside the ready room when the door closed. He stopped and let out all the air he'd been holding in his lungs in a long, shuddering sigh, leaning on the back of the chair. The imposter--imposters?--were on their way to the brig, probably to a trap of the captain's devising, and thanks to Glendenning ordering cells prepared for shapeshifters much earlier, the timing had coincided with the beginnings of suspicion on the imposter's part. Ben could relax now. Things were under control.

"To think I gave up private practice for this," he mumbled to himself. "Adventure--oh, you could say that. And here I thought the scenarios they put us through at the Academy were ridiculous!" He sighed again. "Congratulations, Counselor, you've finally been driven to talking to yourself!"

He returned to his quarters and realized only as he pulled off his jacket that he still had the phaser tucked up his sleeve. He put the weapon on the table and headed for the shower. Now that the adrenalin and the stimulants from earlier were on the wane, he didn't have the energy to return it to the locker--he'd explain it to deLio in the morning.

In the *late* morning.

~^~^~^~^~

"What if the admiral tries to contact the captain?" Ro asked. "Or you?"

Troi seemed to wake from whatever trance she'd fallen into. "That's a good question."

"Maybe we should answer it. They're being careful for a good reason. If one of those shapeshifters finds out, it could disappear--cloaked, or imitating some object or person. It could get away from one of those detectors easy if it saw you coming with one."

Measured calculation wasn't Troi's usual. That look made Ro uncomfortable. "What do you suggest?"

"One of us could go keep the third one busy."

"Meaning you? That wouldn't be safe."

"Like safe has been something I've tried to be," Ro exclaimed, mouth twisting.

"You aren't a member of my crew. I can't ask you to jeopardize yourself in this."

"Going with you isn't safe, either. I volunteered for that, I'll volunteer for distraction duty, if it gives us a chance of getting out of this alive. From what Riker and others have said, the *Lexington* was taken out by a handful of people who carried off the masquerade long enough to facilitate boarding. We can't risk one shapeshifter getting suspicious. They're former Starfleet personnel, and obviously well-educated in too many top officers' backgrounds."

Troi nodded stiffly. "All right. But I'm sending someone to meet you on deck eight."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"I'm not going to lecture on procedure. It's too dangerous, for all the reasons you've quoted to me, for you to go alone. I'm sending someone from security. Don't go in until you have backup." The lift halted, and before Ro could answer, Troi was gone and the doors closing between them.

Ro redirected the lift to the right section of deck eight. She asked for the computer's direction and followed the prompts it gave her, tucking the phaser out of sight in the back of her pants. Running footsteps made her turn around.

"Hey, you don't think you're going in alone, do you?" Greenman exclaimed.

Ro sighed. "Great, the cadet review is here."

"You want to get personal, do it when I'm off duty," the lieutenant said frostily. "I'm here as backup."

"All right, here's the deal--"

"The deal is, we're going in together, because a shapeshifter could imitate either one of us and no one would find out about it until it's too late. You need someone to watch your back."

Ro glared, but touched the annunciator and was admitted.

The admiral sat at the desk, looking disdainful and cold. Just like the face on the viewscreen the last time she'd seen him. "You're the Maquis --what are you doing at large? You should be in the brig."

"You said, when I was on the *Renton,* that if I helped map the Briar Patch--"

"Who is this with you?"

"That's my friend Natalia." The admiral hadn't seen all four of the Maquis; only Ro and Sarah had been with Ventana when he'd contacted Dougherty. Hopefully he'd notice the similarity between Ro's black outfit and the uniform and assume they were both just dressed like Starfleet. "I wanted to talk to you, about your promise. I want to know if my friends and I can expect you to follow through."

A movement to Ro's right, and slightly behind her, startled her--she felt a cold hand on the back of her neck before she could look, and froze.

"She could be useful," Greenman said, deadpan -- like the one who'd imitated Troi. "It's a good thing I came--if I had not been on my way to report to you I would not have been able to intercept. They were sending a security officer here. They must know. This one is meant to distract. Are you the captain?"

The admiral-imposter's face went blank as Emily's had been. He stepped from behind the desk. "Ormazd."

"Dahaka."

"We will consider the other two lost until verification. This will require a change of plan."

Ro felt the ice of realization go through her. This was more complicated than she had thought. Emily's account had listed ten shapeshifters, most dead, all accounted for. The admiral, captain and Troi impersonators on this ship, the three "partial transforms" on the other--if the count were correct, this must be one of the partials.

Had the second Troi been real, or a shapeshifter? There'd been a significant pause between the captain contacting her and beaming over from the *Mirage.* What if another shapeshifter had waylaid her?

Ro felt the phaser being pulled from her waistband. The admiral shimmered, and morphed--Ro stared at the emotionless imitation of Mendez that resulted. Options, she needed options, she needed help --

Then a shock to the back of her neck blotted out the universe.

~@~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 22

Tom hurried past the open door and gave a thumbs-up, meaning Deanna and the imposter were on deck. Jean-Luc gave deLio the nod; the security chief set the detector on the console in the outer room and aimed it at the door. The moment he walked in, the shapeshifter would be solidified. A quiet clunk from the air vent high on the wall said it had been sealed off, as per instructions.

Tom's question to Emily had been a good one--which of them, the admiral or the captain, was the leader of the group, the captain of the *Mirage* whose orders she couldn't refuse? Because as it turned out, answering the imposter's hail and obeying the summons had been her impulse because of *Tom's* order to do so. She couldn't tell them which of the two was Captain Middleton. It hadn't been decided yet which role Middleton wanted, so the plan was for the three of them to swap roles, so Middleton could access personal files to research each officer's background in more depth and decide. She couldn't tell if the swap between admiral and captain had taken place until the proper code word was used. It made sense--how else would shapeshifters be able to tell who was who?

In keeping with their practice so far, Middleton's code word was from an old Earth pantheon, the name of an ancient Persian god, Ormazd. Agents borrowed from obscure mythologies frequently. The other code word Emily had used was of like origin. Babd, Tom explained, was the Celtic goddess of war, who not only took part in battles themselves, she also influenced their outcome by causing confusion among the warriors with her magic. The term was used in situations in which a Section agent was among the ranks of the enemy, masquerading as one of them and seeding rumors to foster dissension and confusion. Emily had turned Babd against her own group as much as she could, borrowing on what was implied by the real admiral's actions and what she knew was Section protocol.

The stories Anij had told both Starfleet and the Maquis were carefully constructed to obscure any involvement of Starfleet officers or Section agents. All subsequent versions had been meant to confuse and distract them. In light of that Jean-Luc had a difficult time trusting Emily's version, but it seemed the most likely at this point. Emily's was the simplest and most straightforward. Given her subservience to Tom, down to walking willingly into a cell down the hall, it also seemed likely she'd told him the truth out of obedience.

Jean-Luc straightened his shoulders, stepping up alongside deLio to wait at the console when the imposter and Deanna came in. The imposter gave him the most cursory of glances. The disguise was working. 'Captain Picard' hadn't recognized Jean-Luc. Deanna glanced askance at him, however--he'd experienced a jolt at the sight of his double. He held her eyes a moment, reassuring himself it was really her, and turned away before he gave away any connection between them that the imposter might question.

"Drop the force field," the imposter said, gesturing at the shimmering barrier across the front of the cell.

"But sir--"

"Commander deLio, I gave you an order," he exclaimed, scowling. "I want to see it. You--what's your name?"

"Lieutenant Ames, sir," Jean-Luc replied in an over-eager falsetto. As long as he kept responses short he should be able to manage.

"You have a phaser. Be ready with it, and we'll be fine. Drop the force field."

When the field dropped, he went into the cell. That wouldn't have been Jean-Luc's first impulse. It would cut this ordeal short, however.

"What's your name? What are you doing aboard my ship?"

Geordi stood up and gave the imposter a disdainful glare. Jean-Luc aimed the phaser, not at Geordi but the imposter, and briefly toyed with the idea of shooting him on the spot. Upon further questioning, Emily had admitted that once one of them was imitating someone so thoroughly that medical scans couldn't detect a difference, the shapeshifters were as vulnerable to phaser stuns or tranquilizers as any human--as long as they had no time to compensate by changing their internal structure to fend off the effects.

"Why are you continuing the masquerade? You must know that continuing the pretense after you're apprehended makes no sense." The imposter sounded like a pompous ass. Jean-Luc wished he could justify shooting it for that reason alone.

Geordi said nothing and crossed his arms. Head down, he strolled around the fake captain, pretending to be thoughtful. The imposter watched him warily.

It was beginning to look like this wouldn't work. Geordi turned, back to the exit, and put his hands behind his back. They all waited another five minutes. Then Jean-Luc heard the imposter mumble something, and Geordi's hands moved in the predetermined signal. The engineer snatched the comm badge off the imposter's chest; in the same instant Jean-Luc triggered the force field and the pre-programmed transport controls simultaneously.

The field went up, Geordi disintegrated in a sparkle of transporter beam, and the shapeshifter inside the cell stared out at them as Geordi re-materialized in the middle of the room on the safe side of the force field. He turned around and met Jean-Luc's eyes, tossing him the comm badge.

"Wrong code word," he said. It wasn't Captain Middleton, then. That meant another confrontation. If this had been Middleton, Tom might have been able to use a few code words, provided by Emily, to take command of the other shapeshifter.

Tom came in, glancing at the captive with mild interest. "Doesn't look a thing like you, Jean-Luc. Too much hair."

"Precisely what I was thinking." Jean-Luc noticed the captive didn't look surprised at the exchange--chilling that the shapeshifters had no emotion at all. Even a Vulcan would have had more facial expression than that. Now that it knew it was exposed and captive, it no longer kept up the pretense.

"Ro went to keep the other one busy so he wouldn't try to contact the others," Deanna said. "deLio sent Lieutenant Greenman to back her up, since she was finished helping with the replication of the detectors."

"Let's get going, then." Jean-Luc marched out, and Deanna was first to join him. She followed too closely.

"Nice hair, Lieutenant," she murmured.

"Shut up." But he could tell she laughed silently at it. At least she could do that, for the moment. He gestured at deLio, who in turn gestured at security officers to enter the cell antechamber and stand watch over the captive.

As Tom, deLio, Geordi, and Deanna rode with him toward deck eight, one of the newly-replicated detectors in deLio's hand, Jean-Luc ripped off the eyebrows and wig.

"But I liked the curly blond look," Deanna said. He threw the disguise at her.

"You can have it, then. Good job, Geordi."

"No problem, Captain. I just did my best imitation of Will being disdainful."

Deanna raised both eyebrows at the engineer as the lift stopped. She patted his shoulder. "Don't quit the day job, Geordi."

"I could always get a job making doorstops out of starships, that's easy enough." The wig hit the engineer in the face. Deanna shot out of the lift, fists clenched at her sides, and Tom, deLio and Jean-Luc looked at Geordi, holding the wig. He grinned.

"Phasers on kill," Jean-Luc said, raising his. "We're taking no chances with this one getting away. Thank you for your assistance, Geordi."

Geordi stayed in the lift. Jean-Luc let everyone else go ahead of him. As he followed Tom out, he heard the other captain mutter something and shake his head.

"You could have said something sooner, if you suspected what was going on," Jean-Luc said.

Tom stopped and watched the others walk ahead of them down the corridor. He gave Jean-Luc a long, sober look, and rubbed his mustache, the phaser he held against his shoulder pointed at the ceiling. "I suppose you'll be throwing me in the brig, too, when this is over."

Jean-Luc studied the taller man, who for once looked older than his years. "After you, Captain." He gestured down the corridor.

Tom sighed heavily and went. "Yeah, I wouldn't trust me either."

"If I didn't trust you I wouldn't have handed you a weapon at all. Let's just get this over with, so we can all stop looking at each other with skepticism."

"All right." Tom slowed and walked with him, stride for stride. "You knew about the Section already, didn't you?"

"What I do or don't know about it is of no consequence. We have a crisis to resolve."

"I wouldn't have thought you were the type who would be able to stomach the thought of the Section, if you knew it existed."

"Later, Tom." Jean-Luc rounded the last corner and caught up with the others, who waited outside the door for them. He glanced at Tom, at deLio, nodded to Deanna, and touched the annunciator.

~^~^~^~^~

Ben settled into bed with a good book. It'd been eons since he read any of his old favorites. He studied the list of titles he'd downloaded and selected a late twenty-fourth-century science fiction novel. There weren't many recent science fiction novels--the genre's popularity had waned in the twenty-third century. It was too bad, he really liked them, even the ludicrous ones. This one was from an era during which the Klingons were the enemy of choice, and quite laughable in its inaccurate portrayal of them.

The main character, a member of a mild-mannered race of vegetarians who had been stranded with a dozen Klingons, was about to get in a fight with the Klingons about not killing the animal they had hunted down when Ben heard the noise. He let the padd fall to his chest and listened.

A hissing came from somewhere in the room. Not a gaseous hissing, or the movement of air, but the sound of something soft against metal.

Setting aside the book, he tossed back the covers and got out of bed to go investigate. He picked up the phaser he'd left on the table. Better safe than sorry.

~^~^~^~^~

Natalia woke slowly, feeling like tenderized meat. She opened her eyes--it was dark as before she'd opened them. Moving an arm, then a leg, established that she was in a very narrow spot, and that any movement was punished by fire up and down her body.

"Crap," she gasped. At least talking didn't hurt. She moved her hand in short jerks to her chest and found that her badge was gone. She tried banging on the wall--too painful. Contact with the cold metal sent more jolts of pain shooting through her arm. Moving around made her realize she lay upon a bed of phasers of all types, knocked out of the racks that jabbed her if she raised any part of her anatomy a few inches too high.

She vaguely remembered running to follow deLio's orders to meet up with Ro, and something dropping over her from above, then a jolt at the back of her neck. This wasn't good.

"Computer?" No answer. Of course--why would anyone put audio relays in a weapons locker? "Hell--ooooo," she said, clearing her throat and trying to swallow away the bitter taste in her mouth. "Helloooo! Help!"

The cries seemed to bounce back in her face, but she kept up the noise. Finally a wall opened, turning into a panel, and the silhouette of someone against the brilliance of white light had her blinking and squinting.

Her eyes adjusted too slowly for her liking. Once they had, she recognized Buttz, leaning to peer in at her.

"Okay--*now* I need your help," she said. "Where the hell am I?"

"Deck eight, section ten. What happened to you?" He held out a hand. She took it and tried, but sank back after the attempt resulted in blinding pain.

"Just be a nice hero and pick me up, and let me yank your arm off and scream in your ear when you do?"

She passed out. She must've--there was a lapse, a buzzing in her ears, blurriness of vision, and suddenly she was being carried down the corridor into a lift, her body throbbing and aching with every step her 'hero' took. Then she began putting things together.

Since it was so handy, she tapped Buttz's comm badge. "Greenman to. . . Kamin?"

"Kamin?" Buttz echoed, confused.

"Ssh. Let me talk."

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 23

As he strode into the guest quarters, Jean-Luc kept his hands behind his back, to hide the phaser; the others must have tucked their weapons out of sight. The admiral-imposter sat at the desk, and Ro was nowhere to be seen.

Middleton's eyes flicked from one face to the next. The faint smile grew fainter still. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I was hoping you could answer some questions. It seems that there are shapeshifters among us," Jean-Luc said, trying to imagine what might have happened to Ro, then trying not to. He felt a jab in the back--Tom had come up behind him. The detector must be ready; the 'solidify' beam must be on. He stepped aside.

Middleton's reaction caught all of them off guard. The instant the detector was visible, he was gone.

Jean-Luc didn't waste a moment with self-recrimination but knew he'd be kicking himself for that one later. "Detection," he blurted. Deanna hurried into the bedroom, pointing her phaser as she went.

"Already trying. Whoever rigged this didn't program it to do more than one thing at a time, apparently." Tom waved the detector around, and deLio did the same with his. "Damn thing moved fast!"

{Ro's hurt. I'm direct-beaming her to sickbay.}

Jean-Luc acknowledged it wordlessly, approaching the desk, and experienced a plummeting sensation in his stomach as he saw what was on the display. "There's a reason you aren't finding him, Tom. That wasn't him. It was a hologram."

deLio immediately looked at the vent and tapped his comm badge. "deLio to bridge--red alert. Shapeshifter at large. Initiate the protocols outlined by myself and Captain Glendenning."

Jean-Luc turned to Tom accusingly as Deanna emerged from the bedroom, looking solemn.

"You weren't around, and your lieutenant called me so I could throw my weight around." Tom pointed at deLio. "He wasn't believing Greenman or Davidson."

"We will be more susceptible to paranoia in spite of medical verification of your identity in the future, sir," deLio commented as the red alert sounded.

"Where is Nat--"

"Greenman to. . . Kamin," came the lieutenant's voice, interrupting Deanna's question. A quiet muttering Jean-Luc didn't catch followed her hail.

"Lieutenant," he said. "Where are you?"

"I was shocked and jammed in a weapons locker a few corridors from meeting up with Ro. I feel like hell and Ensign Buttz is taking me to sickbay."

"Good. Stay there."

"But sir--"

"You're supposed to meet Ro, she's in sickbay. Picard out." Jean-Luc turned to Tom. "If you were a shapeshifter, aware that people are looking for you, what would you do next?"

"Boogie for the bridge, if I knew any command codes. Easiest place to lock yourself in."

Jean-Luc pushed past him toward the door. "'Boogie?'"

"Sorry. My colloquial gland again, inter-reacting with my archaic language lobe." Tom kept up easily, as did deLio. Deanna hurried behind them out of the guest quarters.

"At least we know your whistling-in-the-dark subroutine is functioning within normal parameters."

"Sometimes it's just too obvious you worked with Data for more than a decade, you know that?"

~^~^~^~^~

Ben found nothing. Standing in the middle of the room feeling ridiculous, he scratched his head, ran his fingers through his hair, let the phaser droop, and yawned broadly.

Then the red alert sounded, a voice over the paging system announced a shapeshifter on the loose, and ordered everyone to arm themselves, buddy up with someone, and not be caught alone. Phasers on kill.

He swore under his breath and went to change back into a uniform. Of all things to happen. All senior officers were supposed to be at their posts in a red alert, including the counselor.

Once dressed, he brushed his hair quickly, snatched up the phaser, and hurried to find someone--he could probably catch Lieutenant-Commander Mendez, if he weren't on the bridge already. Ray's quarters were four doors down the corridor.

Ben left the bedroom and found Mendez standing in his front room. "Ray?" he exclaimed, staring. "When did you get here?"

"Just a minute ago. Need a buddy?"

"I was actually thinking about coming to see you. Let's get to the bridge."

"To think I was just getting to sleep," Ray exclaimed, yawning. He ambled ahead of Ben, who followed, switching the phaser to his right hand to scratch his head again.

With the reminder of the weapon, Ben glanced at Ray--the third officer wasn't armed. Odd. The order was to arm yourself first, then pair up. Ben noticed that the lieutenant passed the weapons locker by, too, heading instead for the lift. He was about to comment when he realized what else was off--

Naw. He was being paranoid.

But his door hadn't opened. The annunciator hadn't gone off. The noise--

What did a shapeshifter in its near-liquid state sound like?

Emily had said they could cloak themselves.

Ben couldn't have found an invisible shapeshifter with a visual inspection.

His heart pounded hard against his ribs. The sweat in his palms didn't help, but he gripped the phaser tighter. He glanced down, thumbed the control, and looked at the back of Ray's head.

If he was wrong--

Oh, gods, if he was wrong --

He stopped and aimed the phaser. "Ray?"

Mendez turned around as the lift doors opened. He blinked at the sight of the phaser, then rolled his dark eyes and raised his hands. "Okay, hey, I surrender. C'mon, Ben, what's with this?"

"Ray. . . my Aunt Emma got sick and died. Did she die?"

Even as his face fell, Mendez shimmered.

Ben fired the phaser, praying silently for security to beam right on in, or beam him out, or whatever it took. The quicksilver humanoid form dodged the phaser fire; the beam passed through a hole in the creature and struck the wall at the far end of the corridor, even as the creature flowed in a high arc. The last thing Ben saw was a curtain of silver falling on him, then something stabbed the back of his neck and all went black.

~^~^~^~^~

Ro woke to the red alert, found herself in sickbay, and groaned. Once more, she felt like someone had pounded her flat and left her out to dry. She sat up anyway, grimacing and trying not to pass out. If she got up and moved around the lingering aftereffects of the stun would wear off quicker--she knew that from the experience in the caves. Like movement reset the nervous system somehow.

"Miss Ro--"

"Let me up!" She threw off the nurse's hand. "Where's the phaser I had?"

"Doctor!" the nurse cried, appealing to her superior for help. Ro darted for the nearby table as Mengis hurried out of his office and across sickbay. Snatching up the phaser, Ro trained it on Mengis.

"I'm not going to let you keep me here--I've got to find me a creepy puddle of goo and blast him into molecules before he gets anyone else," she exclaimed, sidling for the door.

Once out of sickbay, she raced off for the nearest lift. Red alert beacons were winking along the walls. She had to force her legs to move, and turning her head too fast sent a stab of pain through her skull and out through her eyes, but she could move and hold a phaser--she had a job to do.

She almost ran into two people, a male ensign helping a limping Greenman along. Greenman met Ro's gaze. "You're going to help--"

"Out of the way, I don't have time for chitchat." She dodged around them.

"Nat!" the ensign shouted. "Orders--you're supposed to--"

"I know, Ensign!" Greenman caught up with Ro as she reached the lift. Ro paused, eyed the lieutenant, and noticed the lines in her face.

"You're in pain."

"So are you. Probably the same reason."

"Shapeshifter shock."

"Yeah." Greenman lurched into the opening doors, stumbling into the lift. Ro went in after her.

"They replaced you." Ro stared at her. "How do I know you're not the shapeshifter again?"

"I feel like hell. I was supposed to rendezvous with you as ordered, got shocked, stuffed in a weapons locker, and finally got out--now I'm continuing to do what I've been ordered to do. I'm with you. You're Maquis, got any sneaky suggestions to go about catching the thing?"

"There's two of them now." Ro smirked, liking the sound of this in spite of herself. "They figured out that we know they're imposters. We should contact the captain."

Greenman caught Ro's hand before she could tap her comm badge. "Hey--wait a minute. Computer, where is Kamin?"

"Deck eight, section four, corridor nine."

"Where is Captain Picard?"

"He's either got both badges or he's with the imposter who was imitating him. The captain reprogrammed his badge."

Rather than snap that she already knew that, Ro tried to think it through. "We can't afford to take any more chances, not with anyone, no matter how convincing they are. Computer, deck eight, section three."

"Three?"

"Yep. And when I get off, you're going to two, and we'll converge on their position. Know where there's a weapons locker?"

"Since the war they're at regular intervals on most decks." Greenman rubbed her brow with the heel of her palm. "Computer, location of Kamin?"

"Turbolift shaft 23-A, descending."

"That turbolift's destination?" Ro exclaimed.

"Deck ten, section nine."

"Redirect this lift to deck ten, section eight." Ro met Greenman's eyes again. "Same plan, different deck--we'll have to move fast. Sounds like they're on the move. Pick a code word, if we're separating we need to know who we are."

Greenman grinned. "Okay--terrorist."

"Kissass cadet."

"Well, I guess they wouldn't think of those, would they? It's just so obvious that we really do care *so* much for each other," Greenman said blandly.

Ro sighed. "Okay, how about our serial numbers?"

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 24

Jean-Luc pointed at Deanna as they left the ersatz admiral's former quarters behind them. "You should go down to engineering."

"Captain--"

"Get all available hands replicating and distributing those detectors far and wide. deLio, get security teams--Commander?"

Deanna stopped, eyes wide, and started to run. As she reached the lift deLio's badge chirped. "Phaser fire on deck ten, section nine!"

Tom was in motion even as Jean-Luc ran after his first officer. They didn't make it to the lift in time to catch the same car, but another was right behind it--the computer responded to red alerts by bringing more cars into operation. deLio wasn't but two steps behind them, and giving orders faster than Jean-Luc had ever heard the stoic L'norim speak, dispatching security teams in pre-planned patterns.

They emerged on deck ten, section nine, to find Deanna kneeling over an unconscious Ben Davidson in the corridor. "It attacked Counselor Davidson," she said, glancing at them and standing. "He's alive, just stunned. I interrupted it--it went in the vent."

While deLio contacted the bridge and ordered isolation of decks seven through nine, Jean-Luc whirled on Tom. "Did you know Middleton?"

"No. If you're going to ask me what I think he'll do, think again--he's running but not scared. He's probably insane by human standards. It's a toss-up whether he'll try to get back to his own ship or--shit!" Tom slapped his badge. "Glendenning to Riker!"

"Riker here," came the reply. He sounded normal, calm but concerned.

"Get to the transporter room and lock it down. If you can't figure out how just yank chips or phaser the damned thing so it won't work. Bastard's on the loose--if he can get a comm signal to the *Mirage* he'll be able to beam himself right out through the shields."

"Understood. Riker out."

"He should not be able to beam through the shields without the prefix codes," deLio announced.

Jean-Luc agreed--he and Deanna shouldn't have been able to beam in without putting in the prefix codes, either. But the *Mirage* had allowed them to nonetheless, even using the most basic commands left to them in the absence of the majority of the interface.

"We should help with the search," Deanna said.

"I gave you an order, Commander. I suggest you follow it instead of running off again." Jean-Luc reached for his badge to contact sickbay on Ben's behalf, but paused, staring. Deanna looked puzzled. He met her eyes and found a stranger there.

Where else would a shapeshifter hide, but in plain sight?

He turned to Tom quickly, to avoid revealing any shock that might be visible in his face. "Tom, are you sure you couldn't make a guess where Middleton might have gone?" With his fingers, he said something quite different.

Tom frowned. "If he's capable of running cloaked like the Jem'hadar he might be standing right behind you, for all we know."

"That's possible." Jean-Luc glanced at doors along the corridor and sought Deanna. She had to be here somewhere. Nothing. She wasn't dead, he would have felt that, but she probably wasn't conscious. His first urge, to go looking for her, nearly overwhelmed him. He refocused, letting the urge pass. She wouldn't want him to do that. Any such action might tell the shapeshifter he knew of the deception afoot. He should apprehend the shapeshifter, neutralize the danger to ship and crew.

Running footsteps gave him a distraction from the anxiety over Deanna. Natalia came around the gentle curve of the corridor behind Tom, slowing to a walk as she approached, a phaser in hand. Jean-Luc met her gaze with a serious glare he hoped would warn her something was amiss.

"Lieutenant, why are you alone? You're supposed to be with someone," the faux-Deanna exclaimed.

The phaser grip felt moist in his palm. Jean-Luc glanced down at it, noting the setting was just as he left it, and heard Ben moan. The counselor was waking up. Jean-Luc turned and saw, just out of the tail of his eye as he looked at the shapeshifter impersonating his first officer, someone coming from the other direction, along the curve of the corridor. Ro.

To wait any longer would make it impossible to fire a weapon. deLio already stood too close to the imposter for comfort. But any movement from Tom, who held the detector casually in one hand pointed at the floor, would be too obvious. The shapeshifters moved too fast to take chances if they were anything like the Founders in whose image they had been created. It wasn't likely they'd be able to capture it alive. If it could shock people, it would be best to take it out now, before it became suspicious and acted out. It would be too easy for it to kill the entire group, assume the identity of someone after disintegrating him with a phaser, and wreak further havoc on the rest of the crew, or get away entirely.

He raised the phaser and fired. The shapeshifter didn't last very long, disappeared in a blaze of white luminescence characteristic of a hand phaser on its highest setting, and he took his finger off the trigger almost at once.

And then he realized, in the long silence that followed, what the others would think of what he'd done.

Ben, barely able to open his eyes for the pain of the stun he'd suffered, gaped openly and shoved himself into a sitting position against the wall.

"Shit," Tom blurted. "Jean-Luc--"

"You shot her," Ro exclaimed, coming to a halt with her weapon raised. Aimed at Jean-Luc.

"She was an imposter, and I wasn't about to let her continue to roam free on my ship," Jean-Luc shot back.

"How do you know she was an imposter?" deLio asked. Calm, but with an edge unusual for him--Jean-Luc was taken aback by the anger in the L'norim's pale green eyes, and the phaser the security chief had aimed at him. Not surprised--shocked, in a visceral way. His officers trusted him implicitly and here was one of them aiming a weapon at him.

"Let's not do anything *else* rash," Tom said, holding out a hand as if soothing everyone. "No more assumptions."

Natalia shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back. Her eyes had begun to dart from one face to the next, searching for reassurance. After a moment of wavering, she seemed to settle. A swallow moved up and down her throat.

"Captain," she said, making it an invitation to an explanation.

Jean-Luc closed his eyes. Dropping the phaser, he tried again to find Deanna. She wouldn't respond on any level. What could he say to convince them? Nothing. He couldn't explain hajira to them. An explanation that unprovable would sound like another fiction told to cover up the truth.

"Crusher to Glendenning." Beverly's voice reminded him--she knew. She could help. He looked at Tom, and saw that the other captain was frozen, apparently not intending to answer.

"How did you," Tom began, then frowned again. "I was with you, or deLio, or Geordi. . . . There was no opportunity. There was only an opportunity for Deanna--she ran ahead of us. She could have been an imposter, but you. . . ."

"Crusher to Captain Glendenning--if you don't answer I'm sending security."

"Glendenning here, Doctor, what is it?" Tom answered impatiently.

She paused at the ire and formality. "Captain, is everything all right? You've been gone for a couple of hours."

"I'm fine. I may be here later yet, however, so don't start playing curfew enforcer on me."

"As your CMO I--"

"Yes, I know, even big bad captains need sleep. I'll wrap it up as quickly as I can. Glendenning out."

Jean-Luc opened his mouth to tell him to call Beverly back, but the words seized in his throat--he felt something at last from Deanna, a flicker of awareness, and pain. He marched past Natalia, the sudden movement startling them all. He followed the sensation unseeingly and walked through a door, only realizing it was crew quarters when he was inside.

The crew member wasn't awake to complain--a human lieutenant, still in uniform, lay sprawled on the floor to his right, a cup of something dropped near her with a large puddle of greenish liquid soaking into the carpet. In the center of the floor lay Deanna--unlike the lieutenant she was in the process of sitting up, eyes shut tight and oblivious.

"Dee," he blurted, rushing forward. He checked himself and went to the lieutenant instead, touching her neck. A thready pulse. "Picard to transporter room--beam Lieutenant Maibry to sickbay." A quick glance at Deanna verified she wore no badge.

Maibry dematerialized seconds later. He helped Deanna, supporting most of her weight until she found her feet. She moved like a very old woman, wincing frequently, her hand going to the back of her neck. He caught her as she suddenly swayed and almost fell.

"Jean," she rasped, trying to grip the front of his uniform.

Ignoring the group gathering in the doorway, he palmed her cheek and brought her head up to look her in the eye. She was really there this time. Seeing her, touching her, soothed the anxiety he'd suffered and wiped away the memory of seeing the imposter vanish in the phaser beam.

"I thought I gave you an order," he snapped.

"Ben was hurt--I couldn't go elsewhere when I knew one of our officers was in trouble, and when the red alert went off I knew I had to get there before you did."

"So you could get hurt and let an imposter replace you?"

She leaned heavily against him. "So he wouldn't replace you, or kill you, or anyone else."

"I think you need a reality check--you can't do things like that by yourself. Don't you run off without backup like that again. Counselor, are you all right?"

Ben leaned on both Ro and Natalia, hands on their shoulders. Neither of them looked quite well, either. Ben almost fell when Natalia moved as if to come forward to help with Deanna.

"I'll be all right," Ben said.

Jean-Luc noticed deLio hovering over the counselor's shoulder. "deLio, you have the bridge--get security teams out with those detectors and verify we have accounted for all shapeshifters. Send a team to back up Riker on the *Mirage* and take those people he's holding into custody. If you're still having doubts about my identity, send someone down to sickbay. I'll be there momentarily."

"Aye, sir," came the quick reply, and the L'norim's voice moved away as he contacted officers and carried out the orders.

A quick order to the transporter room resulted in emergency beamout for the rest of the group, except Tom. Jean-Luc let the sickbay personnel take Deanna from him, though it was the last thing he wanted to do, and numbly stood aside while the others were examined. He watched Ro and Natalia discharged; both of them glanced his way before leaving. Ben departed soon after, looking wobbly and tired but apparently well enough to satisfy Mengis.

By the time Mengis finished with Deanna, Jean-Luc thought he could easily fall asleep standing up. He leaned against the wall near the door, determined to wait it out until he could reclaim his first officer. The CMO looked as tired as everyone else as he left Deanna on the biobed with a nurse attending her and came to talk to Jean-Luc.

"Captain, leave her here. We'd like to keep her for observation. You should rest."

Jean-Luc stared at Deanna instead of confronting the doctor. "How is she? What about the others? You discharged them, what's different about her?"

"She had a baby two days ago, and she's had very little sleep. The red alert seems to have been canceled. I'd rather you didn't sleep leaning against our wall."

Mengis was right; the red alert beacons had stopped flashing. Jean-Luc responded automatically. "Picard to bridge--report."

"Due to the efforts of Commander LaForge, the detector's capabilities have been integrated into the ship's internal sensors. We have verified the absence of further shapeshifter activity aboard the *Enterprise.* There was only one shapeshifter aboard *Mirage*--the other apparently used the same trick as our would-be admiral, a holographic projection that made it appear to be sitting quietly on the *Mirage* while it was actually elsewhere. The Son'a and the remaining shapeshifter are in the brig without further violence, and Captain Riker has expressed concern and is on his way to sickbay."

"Thank you, deLio. If we're finally all clear, hand off the bridge and get some sleep."

"Aye, sir. How is the commander?"

Jean-Luc stared at Mengis until the doctor answered, "She will be fine, when she gets rest."

"Good night, deLio. Picard out. Doctor, if there's nothing wrong, you could discharge her."

"I would prefer keeping her under observation. The combined residual hormonal fluctuations of pregnancy and the effect of the radiation are not predictable. She spent far too much time on the planet for my liking."

"Fine." Jean-Luc headed for Deanna, noting that the other beds in main sickbay were empty--all patients had been moved to other wards to keep these beds free for emergencies. The nurse, Lieutenant Lindsay, smiled and fetched a chair for him without asking. Mengis shook his head, instructed the nurse to call him if there were any changes in Deanna's condition, and left sickbay to the night watch.

Riker arrived a few minutes later. His quick glance at Deanna seemed enough for him; by the time he looked at Jean-Luc, most of his concern had gone. "You all right?"

"Of course. You look like hell."

"I'm in good company, then." Will laid a hand on Deanna's shoulder briefly and let it fall away, meeting Jean-Luc's gaze over the apparently-sleeping woman. "What about Tom?" he asked softly, glancing around.

"What about him?"

"He's obviously Section."

Jean-Luc sighed, crossed his arms, and slumped in the chair, wishing for sleep. "You want me to take him into custody?"

"Beverly," Will said, continuing in the same low tone and glancing over his shoulder again. The nurse had left the room upon seeing Will was a welcome guest.

"I know. But he's not going anywhere, and he helped us. He wasn't involved in what happened here."

Deanna stirred, pushed herself up on one elbow, and raised her hand to her head as if that were a great effort in itself. "Tom was on Romulus."

"When you were undercover?" Will whispered, shocked.

"He was there when we were attacked." She turned solemn eyes on Jean-Luc. "After you were knocked out. I didn't kill our assailants. He did."

Jean-Luc thought of the time they'd discussed it on a holodeck, with Beverly, Tom and Will, and of Tom's surprise at their terse account of what happened. "You didn't tell me that."

"I wounded one, but the other charged me," she went on, letting her eyes drift closed. "Suddenly Tom leaped out of nowhere and one of the attackers was down, then the other. I hardly had a chance to see what he did. He checked your condition, then ran off as you were waking up. He doesn't know I knew who he was, I'm sure of that--he'd act differently around me if he did. He's too comfortable with me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jean-Luc exclaimed.

"He was afraid afterward. Not of what he did, but in an anticipatory way. He took a risk by doing it. I suspected that whatever his reasons for actually being there, he'd acted in a way that might get him in trouble. Since I knew your own behavior toward him would change if you knew, I said nothing."

"Except when you expressed doubts about him and Beverly," Jean-Luc added. "That's why you had reservations about him. You knew how involved he was in covert ops. But you didn't say anything to Beverly."

Deanna sank back, head on the pillow, and knitted her fingers on her chest over the blanket. "He's not going to do anything to hurt her."

"I guess if you can trust him. . . but if he does hurt her, he's in trouble," Will said, then leaned closer. "You all right?"

"I will be. Why won't they let me go home?" She rolled her head to look at Jean-Luc and reached for his hand.

"Observation, Mengis said." He took her hand. "Probably retaliation for all the trouble you gave him over the last few months. You're not exactly a model patient."

"Just following your example," she said, managing a tired smirk.

Will snorted. "Yes, I can see we're doing better already. See you in the morning. As late as possible, hopefully."

"Good night." Deanna watched him leave, then tried to sit up again.

"Stop that."

"Jean," she whispered, sliding off the bed into his lap. He caught her as the alarm went off. When Lindsay hurried out, her anxiety subsided, but she shook her head.

"Commander, the doctor said you were supposed to stay here, in bed."

"I can't sleep here," Deanna said. Her wince and the waves of pain Jean-Luc could detect told him why she sounded so agonized. The aftermath of being shocked lingered on.

"I'm sorry, but the doctor--"

"I'm just tired and sore. It's nothing. If all I'm supposed to do is sleep why can't I do it in my quarters?" Her arms tightened around his neck. He sat, stiff under the observation of Lieutenant Lindsay, and let Deanna cling and sit in his lap.

The nurse frowned. "Orders. I can't just. . . Captain, please don't look at me that way."

"Give me a real reason for keeping her here."

Lindsay ran her fingers through her short brown hair. "I'm going to get in trouble for this, but--here." She crossed the room, picking up something off a tray on the counter on her way. Coming around the bed, she put the monitor on Deanna's left temple, activating it with the touch of the switch. "At least there will be an instant alarm if something does go wrong. I doubt it will. Even so, I hope you know I'm going to be chastised for this. Dr. Mengis doesn't like disobeyed orders in his sickbay."

"I'll change." Being allowed to leave seemed to give Deanna energy--she got up, holding up the blanket and wrapping it over the patient's gown, and headed for the changing room, hobbling as if her feet hurt.

"Mengis will give you hell for letting her do this," Lindsay said.

"Can *you* sleep in sickbay?"

The nurse rolled her eyes. "You have a point, but he's still going to give you hell."

"At least I'll be facing hell after getting some rest--it's just a matter of picking your fight wisely. Better him in the morning than her right now."

"I wasn't looking forward to the snoring, anyway." Lindsay blushed. "I'm sorry--it's just that I've had night watch before, when she's been detained for observation, and--"

"Oh, I completely understand that. It takes a while to get used to it."

"To what?" Deanna exclaimed, fastening the front of her uniform as she returned. Moving around seemed to have helped; though pain lingered, even showed around her eyes, she walked without wincing or stepping carefully.

"Having a stubborn first officer." He straightened his own uniform as he stood. She eyed him, but if she sensed the dodge, she didn't respond to it. Lindsay winked at him as they left sickbay.

They walked to quarters as if nothing were amiss, but the instant the doors closed behind them, she threw herself at him. Her fingers knotted around fistfuls of his uniform, she trembled, so tense that when he put his arms around her it was like hugging a post. He held her tighter, and tighter still, until the first sob worked its way out of her.

He didn't know how long they stood clinging to each other that way. It didn't matter. She wept and shook violently; the word she repeated over and over sounded like it might be their son's name. After enduring her tormented weeping for an undeterminable duration, heart fire and common grief crumbled his own iron grip on himself. He buried his face in her hair and let it go.

It didn't last forever. Gradually, the sobs dwindled and stopped. Leaning on each other, they finally made it into the bedroom. She sat on the end of the bed, fumbling at her boots.

Turning as he dropped his jacket over a chair, he discovered that she had fallen back on the coverlet and dropped off, one boot still on her right foot. He stood over her, watching lines of fatigue and pain fall from her face, then sat and slowly worked her jacket off. She'd chosen a uniform--they were only walking from sickbay to quarters, she could have chosen something less troublesome, a casual wraparound or even. . . .

The dreams he'd had before the start of this adventure came to the fore. Part of him wanted to laugh; another part wanted to cry again. She had been so focused on being an officer, fighting instinct, clinging to duty, determined to work as long as possible before Yves was born. Then the crisis had robbed them of experiencing the birth of their son together, forced her to continue as an officer when she wanted to be a mother.

He removed her boot, tugged off the pants, and gently pulled her up the bed until her head rested on a pillow. His caress down her face woke her briefly. "Jean-Fish?" she mumbled, her eyelids fluttering. "S'wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I love you, cygne. Go back to sleep."

"Mh?" She rolled toward him, reaching, her hand falling on the coverlet. He brushed the back of that hand with his fingers and got up.

When he returned from the bathroom, she'd actually gotten under the covers and lay waiting for him, peering through mostly-closed eyelids. He joined her and endured her tucking the covers around him.

"Dee?"

"I missed you. Don't leave me again," she mumbled, laying a hand upon his chest.

"Ssh. Talk tomorrow."

"I want my baby."

He couldn't answer that. She didn't care--she cried again, this time silent, slow tears, and fell asleep clutching his chest hair, her head on his shoulder. Fumbling for the controls beside the bed to turn off the lights without waking her, he accidentally brushed the one that shuttered the viewports and left it that way.

He lay in darkness, unable to sleep though his eyes ached and he desperately wanted to join the snoring woman who threw a leg over his and pulled the covers askew with further restlessness. Eventually she woke again, pawed at his face groggily, and stuck a finger in his nose.

"That's the oldest in-joke we've got."

"Too tired to come up with new material. You think too loud. Sleep, damn it," she mumbled.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Mm."

"Inside?"

"Out."

"Kiss?"

She kissed his shoulder, apparently too tired to aim for anything beyond reach of her lips. Smiling, he pulled her into his arms and mostly on his chest, let her hair fall in his face, and welcomed her warmth and the noticeable slight smell of unwashed Betazoid that reassured him yet again this was really his wife. She weighed less than his dire musings. Finally, he fell asleep.

~^~^~^~^~

Ben realized, as he glanced at the chron through bleary eyes, that for the first time since missing his Basic Astrophysics midterm at the Academy, he'd slept through the alarm set to go off before shift every morning.

He made it to his office in a hustle before realizing that no one had noticed--no one had paged him. Messages winking on his console apologized for the absence of his only three scheduled patients of the day--two would be pulling another shift and one would be in sickbay for another day. That meant he'd have time to start visiting the rescued *Lexington* personnel housed on several decks. He made a mental note to contact the *Venture*'s counselor to coordinate notes. She and their assistant counselors from both ships had been doing all the counseling triage while Ben had been flying a sled.

Gathering his thoughts, he downloaded *Lexington*'s crew roster to use as a reference, along with any psych notes from counselors past, and prepared to go to work. The annunciator interrupted.

Deanna came in. Her appearance startled him; it took a moment for him to realize the startlement was due to seeing her out of uniform. The pale cream dress and the less severe hairstyle were both new to him. She also looked nervous; absurdly, the way she glanced around the small office that had once been hers reminded him of Natalia. She sat down, arms crossed, and said, "Do you have a moment?"

Ben sat down and set aside the padd. "Of course. What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid." She inhaled deeply, exhaled. Didn't want to be here, but resigning herself to it. For a fleeting moment, Ben imagined the inviting shadows under his desk, and how he might fit there. He banished the thought--she wasn't in uniform. He waited.

"I don't want to be a bad mother," she blurted at last, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Who said you were?"

"I just. . . feel, that I've failed, somehow," she whispered. Shifting in the chair, she stared at the floor to her right, hair falling forward.

"Why?"

And it began. Her story tumbled out, how she'd had the baby beamed out of her for the sake of time and minimizing the stress on all concerned, and as she spoke of the great void it left in her, slow tears gleamed on her cheeks and her voice became raspy. Ben listened to it all, carefully detached, and prompted her when the narrative lapsed. She didn't take much prompting. Her guilt was heavy enough to roll out without effort.

Her confession took another turn as she described the mission, not in terms of the fighting but of lives lost--she listed them by name, remembering details of their fallen officers even if it were only from a performance review. She told him how it felt to kill--how she'd turned her anger at the situation into a barrier to avoid sensing pain from the enemy, how she'd convinced herself it was just another holodeck simulation for the duration so she could think and act quickly and objectively. She told him about being captured and freeing themselves, and finding the crew of the *Mirage* dead.

At the end she bowed her head and fell silent. Ben sorted out his response at last.

"Was there anything you would have done differently?"

Deanna frowned, thought about it, and he let her take as much time as she wanted. She shook her head. "No. I don't believe I would have made my choices any differently."

"Why not?"

A deep, deep breath--she'd vented, and felt better. Now she filled her lungs with new air, as if to replace the bad with the fresh. "Because it had to be done. Because I had orders, and sending Yves with the other children was the best thing to do. Because lives were at stake, and I had to do something. It's not just my job any more, it's part of who I am now. I can't make decisions that make me feel better--none of this is about me, or my personal life. I'm in a position where a lot depends on my ability to perform under pressure--I've obligated myself to the people who serve under me, and to the protection of the Federation."

"Feel better now?"

A smile, at long last, but a short-lived one. And then the professional mask began to form once more. "Yes. Thank you, Counselor. The captain wanted me to ask you to see him before you begin working with the rescued officers."

"Are you on leave, then?"

Another sigh. "The captain ordered me off duty. I suspect because he wanted to pacify Dr. Mengis. Gregory was upset that I had discharged myself last night and that the captain went along with it. I don't have the energy to fight the order, and we're doing nothing but mop-up work--not to mention the *Eureka* and *Caiaphus* arrived and will shortly escort us to the starbase."

"You deserve the rest. You've worked very hard with little sleep--I think, too, you'll need the rest before Yves is returned to you. Having a new baby can be exciting, but also tiring."

Her slight smile trembled, but her voice remained even. "Thank you, Counselor. I'll see you later."

After she'd gone, Ben had to take a moment for himself, to recover from the onslaught. "Damn. Damn." It became his mantra, muttered under his breath as he went to the turbolift. At least now he knew how to do that review.

The lift stopped on another deck to admit Mendez and Greenman. Ben stared at Ray Mendez and couldn't help feeling a little trepidation.

"What?" Ray asked.

"My Aunt Emma--"

"I hope she stays dead, and I hope I never hear that stupid thing again," Mendez exclaimed. "Troi better find a different example for the cadets than that. Or I'm putting in for a transfer."

"I hear Glendenning's looking for a flight control officer," Natalia said casually, not looking up from the padd she worked at.

"I'm not a helmsman. That's your job," Ray said.

"You're the one who wants a transfer," Natalia said, glancing up as the doors opened and marching out on the bridge. Ben followed, and Ray stayed in the lift.

Ben ended up on Natalia's heels going into the ready room. Picard had a crumb-covered plate and an empty cup on his desk, and looked up with weary eyes from his screen.

"Commander deLio asked me to deliver this report in person, sir," Natalia said, passing the padd across the desk.

Picard raised a dubious eyebrow. "Thank the commander for me, then," he said, making it plain by his tone that he didn't entirely believe her. He quirked a slight smile as the lieutenant hurried out.

"Natalia had a hard time deciding what to do about your 'replacement' when she figured out he was an imposter." Ben sat down in his usual legs-crossed posture. "She wavered back and forth about bringing in personal details and possibly embarrassing you. In the end, she decided you'd rather be embarrassed than have her risk the ship."

"I have good officers. I expect I won't be disappointed with any of the reports I receive regarding their performance in this debacle. How is the commander? She did stop in to see you, didn't she?"

Ben searched for words briefly. "She expressed a great deal of anguish over the deaths and the unfortunate incidents. Guilt over a few things, but not obsessive guilt. I believe she will be fine."

"Excellent. How are you feeling today, Counselor?"

"I'm back to normal. The aftereffects of the shock didn't last long."

"Probably because the shapeshifter didn't have much energy to shock you with, after all the others. I spoke to Dr. Mengis just a moment ago -- he's performing autopsies on the *Mirage* crew. The Verethragna are more limited than we thought. Apparently, the officers on the *Mirage* were killed by more than just a shapeshifter's self-generated energy."

"Captain. . . ."

Picard's pleasant expression turned formally neutral. "Counselor?"

"What Emily was saying, in the briefing room--what was it about? What's the Section? Did Starfleet cause this entire situation?"

The captain went completely still, appearing to be counting the crumbs on his plate, a minute twist on the corner of his mouth. "The Section is a covert ops group."

"I've heard rumors. . . . But what happened here--Command can't sanction it. Can they?"

Picard got up, tugged his uniform, and took his dishes away. He returned with a fresh cup of steaming tea. "They don't. This. . . situation, should never have happened. I don't believe the ones who started this project ever intended it to come to this mass destruction. They began with good intentions, and the project became a slippery slope into chaos."

Ben couldn't bring his gaze up from the edge of the desk, where the light gleamed on its surface. "There are those who would classify your relationship with the commander as the first step down a slippery slope," he said quietly.

"It could be."

The captain's eyes were there when Ben looked up. "Then why?"

Picard smiled unexpectedly and raised his cup to his lips, speaking over the top of it before sipping. "She wanted to."

Ben laughed before he could stop himself. He laughed, and it rose in him from some unnamed place deep inside, rolling out of him--he could label it clinically as a form of post-traumatic release, he'd latched onto the first unexpected and funny thing he'd heard since yesterday, since he'd flown a sled and slaughtered Jem'hadar. Since he'd seen the bodies of their own dead under tarps on the ground near the triage area. Since he'd shot at a person who looked like his captain, another person who'd looked like his friend Ray Mendez. He laughed, and stopped only when it threatened to turn to a sob.

"P-people ask me why I hate doing the damn reviews," he gasped. "She wanted to. What kind of--I'm sorry, sir, I don't know what got into me."

"The same thing that gets into all of us, when we're in Starfleet long enough." He put down his cup. "Ben, you've only been in the fleet for a few years. I know you came to us with a non-military mindset. You can rely on your training to handle patients with battle-related problems, but you never know how you'll handle battle first hand. I think you did quite well with it, all things considered."

"There were drills--I've been through them off and on, especially at the Academy. Which puzzled me at the time. I'm a counselor, and we're not supposed to be a standing military."

"I like that sentiment myself. I've always been very fond of it. But we are, when we have to be, and we seduce cadets into the Academy with tales of adventure then pound them into soldiers--I joined to explore. I wanted to explore, and I did, but I also fought." He glanced at his screen, then at the viewport to his left.

Ben nodded, stopping as he realized he looked silly with his head bobbing like that. "What about the Section? What about the shapeshifters? The Ba'ku?"

"That's yet to be determined. We'll start with the simplest of the three--how do you feel about helping me apologize to the Ba'ku on the Federation's behalf?" Picard took his cup to dispose of it and headed for the door, tapping his badge and contacting deLio.

Ben followed the captain, noting that Greenman was at the helm--she grinned at him. She'd been the first appointment on his schedule, he remembered. Shaking his head, he turned his thoughts to the Ba'ku and headed up the bridge for the lift, which the captain was holding for him.

The Ba'ku village wasn't what he expected. When the transporter effect dissipated, Ben found himself in a sunny square surrounded by one-story buildings. He looked around as wide-eyed people gathered at the perimeter. One woman came forward immediately.

"Captain," she exclaimed, anxious.

Picard held up a hand. "It's all right. We understand now. The shapeshifters are all accounted for. Now that I know what they were doing to you, I can tell you that it's not going to happen again. They weren't representatives of the Federation."

Her fingers fidgeted with one of the hems of her loose brown garment. "How do I know you're not one of them?"

Ben thought that would give the captain pause, but Picard smiled at the woman. "What would convince you I am not?"

Her eyes were just a few shades darker than the tan skies above. She contemplated him shrewdly. "You told me you grew fruit, when you came to us the first time."

"Grapes."

Anij smiled. "Who is this you have brought?"

"My ship's counselor, Lieutenant-Commander Davidson."

"I think I remember him. He was among those who helped Commander Troi against the Jem'hadar." She studied Ben briefly. "Come, it is a warm day--we will go inside, in the shade. We have much to discuss."

~^~^~^~^~

Natalia mingled too long, but she couldn't bring herself to leave Ten Forward. She didn't want to be alone with her thoughts just yet.

The memorial service had been broadcast throughout the ships whose crew had suffered losses. Someone had decided it was best to have a joint service for all Starfleet personnel lost in the battles they had fought and won for reasons still unclear. Not all of the combined crews could be in one place at one time, so they hadn't even tried. Most senior officers had gathered in Ten Forward on the *Enterprise* for the actual service. The only ones conspicuously absent were the CMO's, who had prioritized and stayed with the wounded. The rest of those present were close friends of the deceased.

It was an hour after the last eulogy had been spoken and many of the attendees lingered. Five captains were in attendance. The sixth, Shelby, had left immediately following the eulogies.

The conversation buzzed around her, but each time Natalia tried to attach herself to a group, she couldn't manage to involve herself in the conversation. She ended up sitting in a corner staring at the planet and its rings in the distance. Ba'ku was barely visible out of the lower corner of the viewport.

"Lieutenant?"

She looked up, and sat up. "Captain," she said, noting the pips. Ventana. She hadn't seen him up close until now.

"You're Natalia Greenman?"

"Yes, sir."

"Captain Picard mentioned you're Bennett Greenman's daughter. I was in Bennett's class at the Academy." He smiled ruefully. "Actually, because I was in sciences and not really interested in security, he and I didn't have much to do with each other. You've probably never heard of me."

"He didn't mention very many of his Academy friends, anyway. Just the ones he still knew when I was old enough to meet them. I'm pleased to meet you, sir." Ventana wasn't very impressive, certainly nothing like Riker or Glendenning. In fact, he had all the charisma of a mousy little cadet she remembered from the Academy who worked the graveyard shift at the library, just so he could read most of the shift. She wondered if Ventana had ever worked in the library.

"It's just amazing to me that Bennett had a daughter. One of his favorite debate topics was the sacrifice of family that career officers have to make." Ventana rested his hands on the back of the chair across from her, still lost in reminiscing. "You have his eyes. And his bravery--you acquitted yourself well, Lieutenant. I've no doubt Bennett would be proud of you."

Natalia smiled, shrugging it off. "I was just doing my duty, sir."

"Exactly what I meant." He nodded. "If you'll excuse me?"

Ventana left Ten Forward, following Picard and Riker, who were with another captain from one of the two ships that had arrived earlier in the day. Glendenning stayed behind, arms crossed, and something in his expression made Natalia wonder. Before she realized what she was doing she was halfway across the room and he'd noticed her coming.

"Hi, Captain," she said, letting herself briefly appreciate him in dress uniform. "I'm sorry about the losses. I didn't know any of your crew personally, but. . . ."

A pained smile flashed and was gone. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I wasn't lying about my FCO. I do have the position open."

"I like my job here, sir."

"That's what I thought." He patted her shoulder paternally. "You pay attention to your captain. You've got a bright future ahead of you, if you keep your eyes open and don't take anything at face value. Can't afford to do that out here. It'll get you killed in an eyeblink."

"I know, sir."

His sharp look put her on edge. After a moment's contemplation, he crossed his arms again. "Yes, I believe you do. Which is sad, in a way. I can tell from the look in your eyes that the last few weeks have left their mark."

"On you, too, sir."

A resigned smile, and amused lights in his eyes. "Any marks I have on me have been there for a long time, Natalia. I'm just another old captain shuffling around giving orders, jaded by years of hard living and fast decisions."

Natalia gave him another quick once-over, raised an eyebrow, and shook her head. "Ventana is just another old captain. You're not 'just' anything, or old."

It made him laugh--he even leaned back and let it ring through the lounge, which had been silent as a tomb for the past hour. From the knot of Klingons in the corner, Ambassador Worf strode over.

"It was my understanding that the human tradition was to mourn their dead," he said.

Glendenning grinned at the Klingon. "So I have, Ambassador. I suppose you have honored your own already, in your own way, on your ship?"

"Of course. Humans would find it--unsettling."

"Isn't it the Klingon way to celebrate the death of friends fallen in battle?" The captain was getting louder. Natalia glanced around; others were watching them.

"Dying in honorable combat assures the fallen warrior a place in Sto'vo'kor," Worf replied. "Such an occasion is worth celebrating."

"Well, if the crew I lost were Klingons, I have no doubt they'd be there--in fact, I really couldn't tell you they aren't. Ever had blood wine, Greenman?"

"Um. . . ." How could she answer truthfully without offending? She'd tasted it on a dare once and tossed her previously-eaten lunch on the table, to the amusement of everyone else playing pool with her.

"Let's get some." He slapped her shoulder and she found herself herded toward the bar, where she was promptly surrounded by Klingons.

This time, she didn't have such a violent reaction to the taste of the wine. The key to it seemed to be swallowing as much as you could at one go, without letting it linger in your mouth. The third time through whatever song Glendenning and the Klingons were chanting, she began picking up the words and joined them.

Several other *Enterprise* crew came up behind her and did the same. Two tankards of blood wine later, Natalia leaped up on the bar with Glendenning and sang, the rough consonants ripping out of her chest through her burning throat.

She realized, some time later as she learned another song Worf began, that more people were singing with them, and more were coming into the lounge. Most of engineering seemed to be elsewhere--understandable with all the repairs to be made--but the security department was mostly there, the exceptions being those whose deaths they had just mourned. She thought about Ken, the lieutenant she sometimes relieved at tactical in the late shifts, who had his skull crushed by a Jem'hadar in the first incursion into the Ba'ku installation. About Jenny, one of the ensigns Natalia had recently befriended, who had run blindly into a junction, responding to the shout of a friend in another corridor, and been vaporized by a shot of a Jem'hadar weapon.

Realizing that her voice faltered as a result, she took a deep breath and belted out the words again, tears escaping. She glanced at Glendenning -- he stood on top of the bar two meters away, arms thrown wide, eyes closed, singing raggedly at the top of his lungs.

Another round of the same song brought with it a new surprise. Riker returned, adding a loud and firm tenor to the rough impromptu choir. Geordi wasn't far behind, and behind him came Deanna, who had left shortly after the formal service. They still wore dress whites, as most of the crew present did.

And behind them came Ro, who stayed in the back corner near the door, watching and listening. She hugged herself and looked down as if ashamed.

Natalia leaped off the bar. Forcing her way through the crowd, still singing, she reached the Bajoran. After a few minutes of having Natalia sing in her face, Ro finally met her gaze. Natalia held up her half-full tankard of blood wine; when Ro didn't take it right away, she shoved it in the Bajoran's hands.

"What are you singing about?" Ro asked, barely audible for the raucous singing around them.

"Don't know, don't care, we're honoring those who've fallen in battle," Natalia half-shouted. "Glendenning started it."

She made her way forward again, sitting at the bar instead of climbing back up and gesturing at the bartender for another blood wine. The drink didn't help; she was too hoarse to keep singing. Leaning on the bar, she thought about her father and Ventana. If Bennett Greenman had been a scientist instead of a security officer, he might still be alive, like Ventana.

Then again, thinking about Ventana's roll of what her mother called 'desk muscle' and his thin arms barely filling the uniform's sleeves, Natalia decided she appreciated her father's choices. Especially when she looked up and found Captain Picard sitting next to her. Talk about a polar opposite of Ventana.

She exchanged a long look with him; he, like her, was silent amid the chaos and motion of crew and Klingons singing an approximation of whatever passed for a Klingon dirge but sounded more like a drinking song. He wasn't smiling, or expressing any emotion, really. Deanna sat down on his right, her solemn expression a mirror of the captain's, and also looked at Natalia.

Natalia glanced up at Captain Glendenning. He'd strolled to the bend in the bar, and with wide swings of his empty hand he directed the crowd like a conductor. The Klingons mimed his movements and sang the loudest, heads thrown back, spilling wine on the carpet.

Natalia turned to her captain again. "Catharsis," she said.

Captain Picard gave her a tight-lipped smile and a nod. The bartender put a drink in front of him--a tankard, same as everyone else had. He sat back, raised it to Natalia, and drank most of it.

Worf showed up, standing over the three of them, and Deanna took up her blood wine to raise it to his. She began to sing with him, wandering off across the room, the crowd parting to let them through.

Natalia propped her elbows on the bar, bowed her head, closed her eyes, and let fragments of memory come--of her father, and the recently-deceased. As the captain had said in his part of the eulogy, while they mourned the losses, they couldn't forget that it wasn't a meaningless death. The deceased had upheld the oath that all of them had sworn, to the death. They'd gone to the defense of the defenseless, defeated a threat to Federation security.

When she looked up again, the captain still sat with her. Captain Picard stared into his drink, seeming alone in the middle of all this, so Natalia centered her own drink in front of her and mimicked him.

"Stop that."

She glanced at him. "You first."

He shook his head. "Think I'll take my leave of this. I'm not in the mood."

Natalia waited until he was gone, then headed for the exit herself. She noticed Ro had joined Riker and Geordi at a table, and that others were abandoning the singing in groups. Deanna spoke to one of the Klingons, Worf had joined another group of *Enterprise* crew, and Glendenning hopped off the bar.

The closing of the doors behind her shut out what was left of the noise. Dodging through a crowd of people heading that direction, she hurried and caught up with the captain, making it into the same lift and requesting her destination breathlessly.

"The gymnasium?" he asked.

"It should be empty right about now."

"Maybe you shouldn't, if you had very much blood wine."

"I don't know what else to do. I've got to do something."

He tugged at the collar of his dress uniform, caught himself, and let his hand drop. "I loaned you a book last week."

"It won't be good enough."

"You stained your uniform."

She looked down at her whites, and noted with dismay that she'd spilled wine.

"Why don't you go change into your duty uniform and come to my ready room?"

Not knowing what else to do, she nodded and redirected the lift, leaving him in it. When she arrived in his ready room, changed and clear-headed thanks to the realization that it must have been syntheholic blood wine, she found him also back in the black and grey, considering a kal-toh game in progress. She sat down and reached for the cup sitting on her side of the desk.

They stared at the partial sphere for a while, moving a piece every so often. She noticed his attention shift to her and met his eyes.

"You left Yves with Guinan," he said.

"Yes, sir."

"With what instructions?"

It took her aback. She'd thought he would have asked Deanna about that. "The same as the commander gave me--if she didn't hear from us in two weeks get on a transport and head for Earth."

He blinked. "Earth?"

"To France. I was supposed to find Marie--" Natalia gaped as he covered his eyes with a hand, bowing his head over his tea. She turned her attention to kal-toh when he didn't immediately recover.

His hand finally dropped. "What's he like?" he asked quietly, staring at the game between them.

She decided it wouldn't be good to tell him Yves had cried for most of the trip, or that Shelby had held him. "His fingernails are so tiny. He's got a lot of black hair, straight and fine. When he cries it's quieter than I thought it would be, and he's got a red spot on his neck Cecily Carlisle called a 'stork bite.' He's got pale gray eyes--I won big in the betting pool. I didn't think he would be so small."

He moved a piece. The construct shifted, rearranged, and she saw an opportunity and took it. For the first time since she'd begun dabbling with the game, a sphere appeared before her.

"Wow."

"First time?" he asked.

"Yeah. I've been trying off and on since Telix. I've even tried taking lessons from Sorek down in astrometrics. Wow. But, it was your game."

"This was the game from the shuttle trip to Telix. You played most of it."

She looked up from her admiration of the sphere. "You actually saved it all these months?"

He nodded, smiling as he surveyed the game. "Some things are worth the wait. Another game?"

"Some things are worth savoring." She propped her chin in her hand and studied how the pieces fit together around that last rod she'd placed. "Thanks for saving the game."

"Thank you for coming back," he murmured.

Something stuck in her throat. Her eyes burning, she kept looking at the game, though she didn't see it any more. "I'm sorry I disobeyed orders, but I couldn't leave."

"Why?"

"I knew you wouldn't have, if you were in my place. I knew Dad wouldn't have, either. This is my ship, too."

They stared at the sphere until Natalia felt silly and pulled one of the rods from the bottom. It collapsed into a ruin. She reached around the base and pushed the reset button, restoring it to its pre-game state.

"Shelby wants to ask you if you're interested in transferring to her ship," he said, picking up their cups and heading for the replicator. "She likes the way you fly a sled. It would be a challenging posting."

"She can ask all she likes, I'll just tell her the same thing I told Captain Glendenning."

He stopped in his tracks on the way back, a steaming cup in each hand. "Glendenning?"

"I guess he needs a flight controller."

"I hope you understand what a compliment that is." He put her tea in front of her and sat down with his own. "From both of them."

"I've had better compliments." Being invited to the ready room for a game of kal-toh numbered among them.

They played in silence until the annunciator interrupted. Riker strode in, smiling at the sight of the game, and losing the smile as he looked at Captain Picard. "Got a minute?"

Natalia put down her cup. "Right. Thanks for the game, sir. I'll just be volunteering my services--I'll bet engineering could use another pair of hands that can patch up relays or replace blown connections."

"Or you could take the time off you're supposed to have --we're leaving in the morning. I'd rather not have you fall asleep at the helm," Captain Picard said.

"Aye, sir." She left the room, deciding as she departed the bridge that she should really hit the gym, as she'd intended. It would help her mood. She could think thoughts that would make her cry, because no one could tell tears from the sweat, if she worked hard enough. And maybe after she wore herself out she could sleep.

 

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 25

Riker straddled a chair and rubbed his beard with a thumb. "Glendenning."

"What about him?"

"I notice he didn't meet your eyes once before, during or after the ceremony. He probably thinks you're going to do something."

"If it were anyone but Glendenning I might."

Will tilted his head. "Because he saved your life once? Or Dee's? Or because of Beverly?"

"Something to drink?" Jean-Luc went back to the replicator, returning with a cup of coffee for Will. The other captain took it and continued to watch him expectantly. He sat down again, smiling faintly at this--he didn't often have Will in his ready room, sitting across from him like he once did as first officer. In fact, the last time they'd been there alone, facing each other across the desk this way, Will had been sullen after finding out about him and Deanna.

"I followed your lead to this point, but unless you give me a good reason not to, I'm going to take him into custody." Will winced and waved at the nearest viewport. "Even if I don't have my own brig handy to do it."

"And do what with him?"

"I. . . don't know. There must be some recourse. What are we going to do with the shapeshifters?"

"What do you know about the Section?"

"I've heard rumors, same as everyone. Admirals say nothing, but the stories circulate."

"Have they ever approached you about joining them?"

"The Section? I didn't know whether or not they really existed until now. Is it true, that they can murder and get away with it?"

Jean-Luc looked thoughtful to stall for time. {Get Tom. We need to have it out now.}

{He's already left. I'll see if I can catch him before he reaches the transporter.}

He put down the tea, opened the drawer, put away the kal-toh board, and found the chip he'd left there several days before, when he'd taken it out of his safe in his quarters. He'd listened to it alone, thinking about the person who'd given him the message and the months he'd spent on the *Riven* that had long since been shoved to the background in his service record, eclipsed by other tours of duty on more famous ships.

"The Section has always been there," Jean-Luc said at last, looking up at Will again to see the surprise in his former first officer's face. "There have always been those who think that the ends justify the means."

"You've known about them all along," Will said, even-toned and chastising.

"Since I was an ensign. I was angry, defensive, and I demanded explanations. But what can a single man accomplish by questioning, when no one wants to answer?" Jean-Luc turned the chip over in his fingers idly. "I don't doubt Command has its share of Section members. Excessive questioning would probably be fatal. If the Section has been given carte blanche to act however they see fit, they could easily claim that protecting themselves is in itself protecting the Federation."

"Resistance is futile?" Will said quietly. "And does it mean we can't do something about the ones we've found?"

"I thought you were one of them, you know."

He sat forward, blinked owlishly at him, and spat, "What? When?"

"The *Pegasus.* Don't tell me the similarities escaped you."

"But I was following orders."

"I don't mean the actual original incident, Will, though I had thought that might be possible. You wouldn't tell me what was going on between you and the admiral. I'm not one to confuse friendship and duty--I wasn't upset because of any personal betrayal." He smirked and shook his head. "That I would have expressed as an officer, anyway. I was concerned that you were an active participant rather than a pawn. I chose you as my first officer very carefully, looking for anything in your record that might be indicative of Section involvement. Until the admiral came aboard and we went looking for the *Pegasus* you and I worked well together and I valued you highly as an officer and a friend. It infuriated me that I might have been wrong about you. It was a great relief to find that I was wrong."

Will fell back, slumping in his chair pensively. "How can you be so passive about this?"

"There are provisions for the Section in the original Federation Charter. Read section 31. I'm not going to accomplish anything by quitting Starfleet in protest, and trying to launch a one-man campaign against them would only get me killed. And as for Tom--who are you going to turn him in to? Can you give me the name of one admiral you know without a doubt has no ties to the Section?"

"They took advantage of the Ba'ku! They would have killed all of us, they killed members of my--"

"I know. But Tom wasn't a participant. Come in," he called in response to the annunciator tone that punctuated Will's exclamation. Deanna had changed into a simple black dress, sleeveless, the collar embroidered with silver. Tom, still in dress whites, had a sprinkling of reddish dots on his right shoulder--someone's drink must have fountained on him during the singing. His expression reminded Jean-Luc of a sullen teenager being called in to discuss a youthful infraction.

"I guess this is it?" he said dully. Deanna dodged around him and headed for the replicator.

"That depends on what you think 'it' is. Will believes we should turn you in to some higher authority. What would happen to you if we did so?"

Tom shrugged, giving Deanna a momentary puzzled look as she handed him a cup. "The Section likes to control who in Command knows what. Confirmed exposure of an agent probably results in said agent's disappearance--I knew one who did. Vanished in a transporter beam. It's handy, and easy enough to tamper with logs and eradicate traces of tampering when you know how. This is definitely a confirmable Section action--telling the higher-ups that I'm an agent will result in my demise. Especially when the logs are all examined and the Section finds out I've not taken great care to ensure no one finds out about me. I should've let you neutralize those shapeshifters without prying the truth out of Emily. I should've helped with killing them, and explained nothing, passed it off as some renegade admiral like you probably thought it was in the first place."

"And if we don't expose you?" Will asked, cooly hostile.

"Then I get a questioning and a pat on the back for behaving in character as one of Starfleet's finest. That's if I indulge Emily's death wish. The minute she tells them I made her confess in front of you two, I'm dead as a doornail." Tom blinked at Deanna, who glared briefly at his use of the doornail cliche.

"I went down to speak to her and couldn't get her to say anything," she said, none of her ire in her tone. "The counselors would love to get her to talk to them. The other one won't talk to me either."

"You're not Section. As you probably noticed, they've got a set hierarchy programmed into them."

Deanna leaned against the end of the desk, leaving the second chair free, but Tom seemed disinclined to take it just the same. With Will glowering that way, Jean-Luc couldn't blame Tom for wanting to stand back.

"Ever vanished anyone in a transporter beam?" Will exclaimed.

Tom met Will's eyes for a few tense moments. "Fair question, but no. I'm not exactly what you would call a full-time operative. I was only recruited so they can keep tabs on me."

"Because of your father," Jean-Luc added. And now, he had everyone's attention, Will's and Tom's out of surprise, Deanna's out of interest. He'd given her a brief summary earlier in the day, after she'd questioned his attitude toward Tom just as Will had done. "Because he was in the Section. You changed your name to his, when you went into the Academy. Why?"

Tom bit his lip, raised his coffee to his mouth, and apparently declined to answer.

"You're not going to trust us? That would seem to be counterindicated."

"Leave my father out of this, he died before I was born and it has nothing to do with the situation at hand."

{Such bitterness.} Deanna glanced at Jean-Luc, her face neutral. {You've never told him you knew his father. It surprised him that you mention him now.}

{I had reasons.} "Sit down, Tom."

He stalked around behind Will's chair, behind the empty chair, then dropped into it, putting the cup on the edge of the desk and sitting ramrod straight with his elbows on the chair arms and fingers knitted in the air over his lap.

"You don't have to be so defensive, Tom. I thought we were all friends," Deanna said, sounding like a counselor again, her voice putting on velvet acceptance and warm invitation. Will smirked briefly at it.

"The less I tell, the safer you are. The safer I am." It hung unspoken in the air--the safer Beverly was. Jean-Luc knew that, in Tom's place, that would be the first concern on his list. "You haven't put me in the brig, and now you're trying to talk to me about it, which is just what I would expect. I won't let you pick my brain--I don't know that much anyway, but you don't need the liability. You're safer in ignorance."

"They're already trying to kill me, Tom," Jean-Luc said. "They sent you to Romulus for a reason."

Tom's expression went from sullen to shocked, eyes opened wide and trained on Jean-Luc's face. Then it sank in, and he looked at Deanna, the realization flooding in and promptly joined by trepidation. "You didn't say anything," he murmured.

"I didn't know about Section 31 until Jean-Luc explained it to me this morning. I believed you were Special Ops." Deanna contemplated him seriously. "What was I supposed to say, 'hello, why do you have pointed ears'?"

Tom guffawed. "Shit. You do keep secrets well. I was only supposed to observe. It's about all I've ever done, really, with few exceptions." He lost the smile almost immediately. "Why do you think they're trying to kill you, Jean-Luc?"

"I've seen those two-pronged neural paralyzers before. They used one to apprehend Ro--and when someone tried to kill me on Telix. Though I have reason to believe that had something to do with time travel as well the fact remains that the same device was utilized. I'd bet the shapeshifters use them, that they're really unable to shock people without the device, and that they keep them within their bodies, shift themselves around to conceal them the same way they did communicators that enabled Middleton to call another shapeshifter into play on the *Enterprise.* The fact that Ben escaped serious injury was probably due to the drain of the power cell of the paralyzer Middleton used--he'd shocked Ro, shocked Deanna, and there wasn't much left to use on my counselor. If he hadn't been rationing energy he would have killed instead of stunned, no doubt. When set high enough they deliver a shock to the entire nervous system at once, and kill. We've seen it happen."

A moment of silence, as they all considered that. Will set his cup on the desk with a decisive click.

"Why did you change your name?" Jean-Luc asked calmly, ignoring Will's frown. Tom's gaze fell as if he had lost face by even considering the answer.

"I was going to be the starship captain my mother kept telling us our father was. I found out while doing a family tree for a school project that my father's service record didn't exist. He died before I was born, my mother told us all these stories, and they weren't true. She finally told me the truth she could never confirm--he was a member of a secret organization that did the things all the starched uniforms would never admit happened. She'd gotten an anonymous message from an officer she never saw again. He delivered it in person one day and beamed away before she could question him. It was from my father, explaining how he'd believed joining the Section was the right thing to do at first but become inextricably caught up in it, until one day he realized what he was really doing and could find no way out. The delivery of the message would mean his death. He'd asked that it be delivered only then, and told my mother to never say a word to anyone about it for the family's sake. I took off for the Academy hot under the collar and cocky as hell. I was angry at him for deceiving us, but I was more angry that we'd been so proud to have a captain for a dad, and the Section stole that from us. We couldn't even see his service record. They classified it. I went through classes in a blaze of self-righteous indignant ire, riding on the ethical high horse. I was determined to make the name mean something, and make up for how they'd roped my dad into the position he'd been in--naive of me not to recognize his own choices as the root cause of it all, but hero worship won't let you see the person very well. I graduated and went out in the galaxy with a critical eye for anyone of any rank who dared to so much as appear to betray the Federation ideal. "

"And that's exactly the sort of person they approach," Jean-Luc put in. "The ones who believe so fervently in the Federation that they're willing to sacrifice their own principles, and their lives, to protect it."

Tom nodded and continued, turning to look at the wall and rubbing his mustache with a finger. "I was furious at first, when they approached me. I recognized the Section for what it was. I thought I could outmaneuver them, play double agent and get real evidence against them--it turns out they've been a step ahead of me all the way. They've kept me on as a once-in-a-while recruit to keep tabs on me and remind me they know I'm out here. I never get real Section jobs--I'd never be picked for something like what Emily did. They must've had their eye on me from the Academy, recognized the significance of the name change. If I'd had half a brain as a kid, I'd have realized the name would tip them off that I had an agenda and it had something to do with my dad."

"So keep you around, give you assignments, but don't give you anything too covert."

"I was only on Romulus to observe, just like almost every other assignment I've had. This whole relationship-on-the-bridge thing got you a lot of attention across the board. I'm not privy to much Section business, but it's just the thing they would want to police." He reached for the cup, which told Jean-Luc he'd settled down. "Something that might damage the squeaky-clean image of Starfleet they'd love to maintain. You've got a high profile, damned high, and you're one of the Academy's favorite PR tools. Suddenly you rock the boat--the PR department had to scramble to make lemonade. The Section had to be sure this wasn't something they needed to 'handle.'"

"So you decided to annoy them by doing the same thing?" Will asked.

Tom shrugged and gave a grin that would have been equally at home on Will. "Gave my contact fits. He said I shouldn't attract that much publicity. I told him the war was over, he hadn't tapped me for anything since Romulus, and it wasn't his business anyway. Weasly little guy--nothing like Sloan. Hasn't been in long, and I get the feeling I make him nervous. Which tells me the Section's scraping bottom looking for recruits. Speaking of which, they must've tried with you, if you know about them, Jean-Luc. When did they approach you?"

"They didn't. I got it in my head at one point to try special ops. I was assigned to the *Riven* for a few months--a small scout ship along the Romulan Neutral Zone." Jean-Luc tapped the chip he held on the desk a few times, then dropped it in the slot. "I questioned too much. One of my friends disappeared on leave, and no note was taken of it by the senior officers. The captain informed me it was a transfer, but I knew it couldn't have been--I'd been to the missing person's quarters looking for him. His things had been moved, but they'd missed a signed painting hanging in the bedroom that he never would have left behind. His mother was an artist who'd died the year before, and the painting was all he had left of her. The captain put up with me to a point and finally told me I was in the wrong career path, said he'd be sorry to see me go but that I was better suited to my original goal. He told me to keep questioning everything, take nothing for granted, and to avoid Section 31. Which I questioned, as I didn't know what that was, but he shook his head and dismissed me."

By the end of the account, both Will and Tom leaned forward, fascinated. Jean-Luc shoved his empty cup forward, and Deanna took it and headed for the replicator. When she returned it he sipped without looking and almost dropped it. Hot chocolate. He looked up to meet her laughing eyes; she sat again on the end of his desk, her own cup in hand. Shrugging, he took another sip.

"A few weeks after my transfer, I received a package from him. It contained two chips, one meant to be delivered by me to his wife, another for me, and a book." He paused and tried again to remember where he'd left that book, but couldn't. It remained one of the casualties of moving on too often. "On the flyleaf he had written a quotation, attributing it to Thomas Paine. 'He that would make his own liberty secure must guard even his enemy from oppression; for if he violates this duty, he establishes a precedent that will reach to himself.' The book itself was by Mahatma Gandhi. I read the book on the way to deliver the message. You have your mother's eyes."

Tom stared at him with those eyes, speechless. Jean-Luc tapped a control, and a new voice filled the room. Thomas Glendenning had a slightly-deeper voice, baritone rather than the tenor of his son, and it had a rasp that made itself known especially on fricatives. It was an unusual quirk that Jean-Luc didn't remember from when he was on the *Riven,* that made him wonder about the circumstances under which the recording was made.

"If you're listening to this, it's the last time you'll ever hear from me." A pause, a quiet cough, and the sound of something brushing up against something else. Fabric against a table edge perhaps. "Circumstances. I know you probably wonder why I picked an ensign I hardly know to be responsible for this. It's important to me that it's done, and I know enough about you that I'm certain you'll take care of it, even if it's inconvenient. Most of the officers I trust completely are going with me, and we know when the number's up. So I ask you to see the enclosed delivered to my wife, on Earth. You're resourceful enough to find her I'm sure. You'll be watched. They're watching me. They probably watch my family, constantly. Last time I spoke with my contact he questioned too insistently. They suspect I'm losing the motivation to stay with the Section, but there's nowhere for me to go--they're nothing more than a terrorist organization, Ensign, all dressed up in grand intentions. I've been skating on thin ice for the past few years now, discouraging those who question in subtle ways, trying to keep the most promising officers out of it by cryptic warnings and anonymous messages. The only real hope of seeing an end to the Section is in weakening its ranks. The way to weaken its ranks is to see that its primary pool of candidates, Starfleet officers mostly, is disinclined to join. The way to do that is to see officers like you, who question everything and actually expect others to live up to our ideals, move up through the ranks. In one respect you're the type they like--dedicated and determined. In others, you're their worst enemy." He sighed heavily and let a silence stretch out across moments before going on.

"An example always speaks louder than words--your actions will always influence those under your command. What they teach at the Academy goes in one ear and out the other. They can give technical expertise, but the attitude, the moral base upon which all our decisions are based, is still up to the individual." More rustling, and the sound of something being put on the table. "But it's too late for me to be an example. I can only ask that you deliver the message to my wife, and hope that words are enough. . . . Old cliches are a joke in my family, but there's one cliche that I will never laugh at. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Intentions are what we Section agents have, and that's what we cling to even after it becomes apparent that we've betrayed what we intended to protect. Some of us are hardened beyond recovery by the work we do; a few of us recognize it and persevere, keeping the secrets and going through the motions, because it's what we are and there's no going back. I came late to understanding what I learned in those history classes that cadets roll their eyes at--human history is replete with men who could have told us the end results of what the Section is attempting, and other histories on other worlds will tell you the same. There are no short cuts.

"As long as Section 31 exists, we fall short of what we should be. I fear that those at Command who know of the Section and excuse it, saying it's necessary, will be themselves compromised and not hold fast enough to the principles they are supposed to uphold. I fear that the Section's rationale will be a canker eating away at Starfleet, that will spread beyond it. I fear that the longer the Section exists, the more pervasive it will become, until it begins to overtake what it hopes to preserve. It isn't their intent to do this--but the Section is a compromise of the wrong sort, one that will haunt us. It's not too late to do away with it and recover. Yet. I can only hope some of the seeds I've planted actually have a chance to make a difference."

Another pause, and a curt laugh. "And I lay this upon you, an ensign, as if you were a priest receiving my confession. But I'm not asking absolution of you. There is no absolution for me. No salvation for those who've slipped on their own good intentions for too many years. Just. . . deliver the message, and if you could, do it in springtime. Pick daisies from the side of the road to the house. She'll appreciate the daisies more than roses--she has more roses than she knows what to do with. On your way to Earth pick up some small souvenirs for the girls, candy if nothing else. I have four of them, and gods know how I managed that when I'm gone so much, but. . . at least I've done that much good in this life. They're wonderful kids. If I had it to do over again I'd have been there for them more often. But, I got it in my head that I was doing something for them by being out here. . . . Be careful what you give away. When it comes to sacrifice, make sure it's not going to be a hollow one, when you're giving up pieces of yourself. You can never go back and un-make it, and some things, you can give only once. Thanks for taking the message. Don't try to contact me. I suspect, if all goes as expected, you'll be hearing that the *Riven* was decommissioned. She will be--just not in the usual way."

The stillness after the message ended lingered long. Will coughed lightly. Deanna moved around to stand behind Tom's chair and laid a hand on his shoulder. Avoiding the man's eyes, Jean-Luc looked instead at his own reflection in the shining surface of the desk and drank the rest of his chocolate.

"The *Riven* was decommissioned four weeks later. Showed up in the news net. I sent an innocuous meesage requesting a letter of recommendation to Captain Glendenning. It came back undeliverable. So I delivered his message, along with a bunch of daisies and some candy, to a woman with two girls clinging to her skirts and another child on the way, and she asked me who I was and how I knew her husband. And mindful of the fact that I knew we were probably being watched, I told her I was just delivering the message on someone else's behalf, and left as quickly as I could."

"Shit," Tom muttered, leaning with hand over eyes, trying to hide his angst. Deanna left her hand on his shoulder, companionable but not intrusive, probably knowing exactly how far she could comfort before he snapped at her. She looked up--tears glittered unshed in her eyes--partly her own hurt because of her situation, her own decisions and sacrifices recently made, but partly Tom's.

Will plunked his fingers in random rhythms on the arm of his chair and slumped lower. "Funny how we hit a certain age and our absentee parents suddenly become people."

"Will," Deanna said, gently warning him. "Tom, have you told Beverly?"

It made him laugh--bitterly, and too loud. The alternative-to-crying kind of laugh. He tipped his head back to look at her. "Go away, Counselor," he said, half-playfully.

Deanna propped a hand on the back of his chair on either side of his head, looked him in the eye, and said, "No."

"Something tells me you've had too much practice answering that kind of order."

"From a variety of patients," Will said.

"You need to tell Beverly," Jean-Luc said, not letting him dodge. "If she doesn't already know. I can't imagine she doesn't suspect."

"She knows I was in covert ops of some sort." Tom heaved a great sigh, settling face forward again, and stared at the chip they'd just listened to. "You didn't tell me you knew my father."

"I didn't know if I should. I didn't know you. I knew your name, the instant I saw you the first time--there's no mistaking you for anything but his son. The face, the height, the complexion and even the manner. He was very formal as a captain. Reserved, distant, and yet somehow personable at the same time. And he became a tragic figure, in my mind. I remembered him many times, and his warnings, especially when unexplained odd occurrences occurred--especially when I lost a friend in an incident that should never have happened. What do you know about the Greschern?"

It wasn't a tangent from the topic at hand, which was really still Section 31, but as a way of distracting Tom out of his personal angst it worked well. "They're reclusive, but their sector is one of the best sources of the ores used in the making of duranium, and one of the only sources of the base metals that make up neutronium. I've actually been there once, to escort a cargo vessel when the neighboring civilization, the Walklin, were threatening the Greschern's territory."

"I was the one who negotiated the treaty with them." Jean-Luc pulled out the chip and dropped it in the drawer, activating the lock keyed to his voice print. "A Section agent caused complications that resulted in the death of my best friend. The agent tried to assassinate one of the Greschern, a former leader of an uprising on Greschal VI who had risen to power in the new government after the reforms. Jack didn't like the way the agent was acting, and on the basis of his suspicions the two of us tailed him late one evening and saw him knock out one of their security people and slip into the leader's rooms. The assassin failed because I killed him, but not before he killed two people, a Greschern aide and Jack, in the firefight. Since I had killed one of my own people to save his life, the treaty was signed. The Greschern leader confessed that he wasn't intending to sign because he didn't trust us. My actions had proved to him that I meant what I said, the Federation wanted peace above all else, and that we would protect them in the event their neighbors the Walklin decided to take up arms against them yet again."

"Jack Crusher," Will put in quietly, asking confirmation.

"Yes. I can only assume the assassin was a Section agent. He was one of my crew, had been for four months, had gotten to know most of us well --there was no discernable reason for his actions. I couldn't find anything in the man's past that would account for why he would do such a thing. I told Beverly the truth, that I suspected Section 31 tried to assassinate someone who was perceived a threat to a lucrative treaty and her husband had gotten in his way. She deserved the truth."

"She knows about the Section," Tom murmured.

"I'd say the odds are most officers who are in service for more than a decade have heard of them," Will said. "I first heard rumors of them shortly after my promotion to commander. Nothing substantial, just enough to make me shake my head at the things people will say. I couldn't believe there might be a group who could get away with breaking laws and killing people that way. But I won't deny that it was the first thought in my head when the admiral wouldn't explain a damned thing and shoved me into a shuttle at phaser point."

"We have choices to make," Jean-Luc said. "We have a ship and two Section agents in our brig, and the Ba'ku--we have loose ends that we know the Section will want to tie up. It's likely we can do nothing for the agents. Turning them loose as they are would be like setting an armed torpedo adrift. Turning them in will result in more exploitation of them."

"Couldn't we use them to make Command sit up and realize what's going on?" Will asked. His expression now when he looked at Tom was one of appeal. He'd gotten past the mistrust.

"The war took its toll on a lot more than just mainline Starfleet," Tom said. "A lot of Section agents were lost too. Think about this --the end result of the change was a shapeshifter who obeyed orders unconditionally, without thinking about consequences or ethics. Just what the Section would want in any of their dirtier dealings. This could mean they're having trouble finding recruits and need effective, obedient agents in the field. It could mean they're scrambling to find a way to continue their operations. We might have a chance at doing away with them."

"It requires further consideration." Deanna wandered around the room in the general direction of the replicator.

"It requires an audience with a certain admiral, at which point I'll know better what sort of climate exists back at Command and what we can reasonably expect to attain with our efforts." Jean-Luc glanced at the unfinished report on his monitor and sighed.

"You think Nechayev knows this was Section," Deanna said, returning to her original spot at the end of his desk with a brownie.

Jean-Luc gave a curt nod. "I replayed your communications with her. She's furious about it. Elena has a rigid classification system --I may be a nuisance, but most of the time I come down on the side she sits on. She doesn't like the Section."

Will snorted, grinning. "Nuisance?"

"Let's just say we've had our points of contention and let it go at that."

"To put it mildly," Deanna said, around a mouthful of brownie. She noticed his scrutiny and scowled at him. "What?"

"It's nearly time for dinner and you're eating *that*?"

"I have a mother, thank you, Captain."

"Foul. You're officially on leave."

"Sorry. I have a mother, thank you, Jean-Fish."

He sighed. "I knew it would come to this. Not only is there no danger of over-familiarity on duty, there's almost no chance of it any other time."

"And I knew it would come to this--marry someone who owns a vineyard and it's nothing but whine, whine, whine." She took her dish with her and headed for the door. "I'm going to invite senior staff to dinner, and set us up in one of the larger reception areas on deck five. The three of you can show up when you're through being officers."

"The Chardonnay. There's more of it."

"Right." She left the ready room, winking at him over her shoulder with the fork in her mouth.

"Oh, the pun of it all," Will murmured, chuckling.

"I begin to see why Davidson has trouble with reviews." Tom smiled briefly at it but sobered again almost at once. "So what are we going to do with this ship and the shapeshifters, and what's Nechayev got to do with it?"

The three of them straightened, assumed more formal attitudes, and began the discussion in earnest. For the first time in years the contemplation of the Section seemed not to weigh heavily on Jean-Luc--hope shone in Glendenning's eyes. There may have been no salvation for the father, but there may yet be for the son. Jean-Luc thought of Yves and finally, that part of him that had been unsettled since the incident at Dorvan was at rest. All the questionable decisions Command had handed down prior to and during the war might not be repeated.

Another beginning, and hope for a better future for the Federation. As long as there was that, it wasn't too late.

~^~^~^~^~

Ben left the guest quarters assigned to the *Lexington*'s assistant engineer and checked his list. So many people to help. So much to be done yet. He checked the time--as if his stomach hadn't already told him what time it was.

"Troi to Davidson."

He sighed. Another call to duty? "Davidson here, sir."

"Ben, I'm inviting senior staff to dinner--I have the feeling we could all use some good wine and good company. No pips and no duty-oriented discussions allowed. Would you like to join us? Ambassador Worf will be there, along with Captain Glendenning's senior officers, and Captain Riker's. I suspect you'll hear quite a few tales of our past adventures."

He almost refused out of weariness and the desire to be anywhere but with other people, but hesitated--he would be missing out on dinner with some of the more famous officers in the fleet, out of uniform. "Sure, I'll be there. Don't know how much of a conversationalist I'll be, I'm beat."

"That's what the wine is for. Chateau Picard--and one of the better years, I'm told by reliable sources. See you in fifteen minutes. After you change. Be prepared to lose a month's salary at poker. Troi out."

Ben grinned and headed for his quarters. Dinner, and anecdotes, and poker. Comradery. This was going to be fun.

~^~^~^~^~

Ro walked the corridors of the *Enterprise* by herself. The lights were dimmed slightly, in that familiar approximation of night, and things were quiet. She'd been walking for the past two hours, slowly and aimlessly.

It occurred to her at last that she'd been wishing she could stay.

The *Enterprise* wasn't the same--Geordi was right, it never would be the same again. Anyone over the age of twenty knew things always changed and moved on. This was a different ship from bridge to cargo bay, sleeker, with newer technology, darker decor, and darker uniforms. She'd been built during dark times so that was probably fitting. This was the Federation's answer to war.

Still, there was comradery here. There were people who accepted her. Old friends--though Riker wasn't technically here, he had dropped hints that he made it for visits once in a while. This was still the *Enterprise.* Home.

Yes, she had thought of it as home, or the closest thing to it she'd had since her father died, for a short time. Until Macias had struck the chords deep within her, reminding her of her father and drawing her into the Maquis. Losing the members of her cell, who had all become like family to her, had been devastating.

She stopped walking and leaned against the wall, hands over her face. The screams echoed in her memory. She'd blocked it out for so long, but everything was still there--being taken captive by the Cardassians and thrown in cells, in pairs or singly, and allowed to hear the tortured screams of their friends. Marched past the corpses of those who died with the anguish frozen on their faces. Forced to dig pits to bury them.

"Ro?"

She didn't know how long she'd been standing there, Ro realized. Sniffling and wiping her sleeve across her nose, chiding herself for letting this happen in a public place, she turned around.

Deanna wasn't in uniform. Instead, she wore a stunning red dress, full-skirted, cowl-necked, and with broad, loose sleeves. Her hair tumbled loose around her face. Compassion filled her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude, but I could sense you from three decks away. Would you like to talk about it?"

"No."

"I'm not anyone's counselor, you know." She smiled, clasping her hands in front of her. "I'd guess Guinan would have come looking for you, if she were aboard. But since she's taking care of my little one, I thought I'd do her the same favor and at least offer a listening ear. If you change your mind, I'll be on deck five, in the reception area in section four. The senior officers are throwing a little party." She turned to go, then hesitated. "I don't think anyone would mind if you crashed it. You know more than half of the people there."

Ro swallowed twice and gave up on the lump in her throat. "I'd like that. Thanks."

As they walked together toward the lift, Deanna took her arm. Just a light touch of fingers around her elbow. Ro kept her eyes on the carpet at their feet.

"It's all over with--you don't need me any more," she said as the lift began to move upward. "Why am I not in the brig?"

"I'll have to remind the captain to take that up with his first officer." Deanna laid her other hand over the one on Ro's arm. "Jean-Luc knows a few good attorneys. If Command does try to prosecute, you and your friends will have excellent representation. Depending on scheduling we may be able to come to the trial and speak on your behalf. You did a lot to help us, Ro. That's not something we can forget. You're one of the *Enterprise*'s prodigals come home. You didn't sit by and do nothing, you worked right alongside us, and even if you do have to face the consequences of choices you've made in the past, we won't abandon you."

The sob burst from her before she realized it was coming. Deanna didn't move as the lift halted and the doors opened, just stood there holding Ro's arm and patting her back.

"I guess. . . I'm not really fit for a party," she gasped after reining it in. "Sorry."

"It's all right. I did my share of crying about things, too. There's a restroom down the corridor if you'd like to wash your face and join us after you've gotten it out of your system."

Ro looked askance at her. "What, no orders to talk it out? You're really not a counselor any more."

"Only when I have to be. Besides, I don't think it works very well with you. I'll go make sure they save some of the wine for you--it's Chateau Picard, not replicated, and it's very good." She gave Ro's shoulder a final pat and walked to the second door on the right, going inside in a swirl of skirt. In the brief opening of the doors a burst of Worf's laughter, joined by Riker's and Picard's, escaped and filled the corridor.

Ro laughed herself. Deanna asked, but she'd been quite firm about it. Save wine for her? But Chateau Picard--she hadn't known Picard's family made wine.

What the hell. You only lived once, she reasoned, and this was likely the last time she'd have the chance to mingle with this particular group and drink real wine. She went to find that restroom.

The room quieted briefly as she entered, but smiles and looks passed between people, and Deanna seemed happiest of all to see her. Putting down her own drink, she picked up a new wine glass from the table and brought it to Ro. Worf led over another Klingon, a much younger one, and said, "You remember my son, Alexander?"

Ro blinked. "Yes, but. . . he was a lot smaller."

Worf slapped Alexander's shoulder. "He grew."

She grinned, then laughed with them. Deanna kept smiling, and turned when Geordi's voice rose above the returning murmur of conversation around the room. "And if you ask her about doorstops. . . ."

"Excuse me, I'm going to go kick the engineer," Deanna said loudly, marching in slow pursuit of Geordi, who dodged around people to get away and grinned fiendishly.

Riker brought over a blond. "Christabel Sumners, Ro Laren. Ro was our helmsman on the 1701-D for a few years."

"Hello, again." Sumners smiled and shook hands. "I treated you down on the planet, remember? For the cracked tibia?"

"Yes, thank you. Are you a member of Will's crew?"

Sumners gave him a fond look. "Among other things. Oui, cher?"

"Among other things." Riker grinned in his old irrepressible way. "You have a way with obliqueness, mademoiselle."

"What an atrocious accent, cher. How could you work with a Frenchman for so many years and not learn one word of French? And you would have learned that word first of all, I think. The universal translator does us no favors." Feigning displeasure, the nurse gestured at Deanna, who had given up pursuit of Geordi and stood with her husband. "Madam speaks it better each time we see her."

"I didn't know it was a competition."

"If that's what it has to be to motivate you, it is," Sumners said lightly, winking at Ro. "If you do not care for the wine, M'sieur Data is tending bar. Although I cannot imagine anyone complaining about the wine."

"It's very good," Ro said. "But maybe I'll have something else later. I remember Data and his drink-mixing subroutines. He's probably got an even bigger database now."

Ro moved from one small group to the next, indulging in small talk. No one wanted to talk about Starfleet or the Ba'ku. She joined Crusher and Mengis and heard all about the woes of having stubborn commanding officers who overruled medical decisions. Geordi and Glendenning and some fellow named Besala were discussing the differences between warp cores and women, something she decided not to stick around for. deLio had a quiet conversation going with a tall piratey-looking man, and she passed them right by, knowing from the single phrase she caught as she approached--'broken ribs while they tried to find cover'--that she didn't want to listen. Riker and Sumners were daring Data, standing at the bar in the corner, to ask someone out on a date. The *Enterprise* counselor, Davidson, sat in a corner with two other people Ro hadn't met, a woman and a man. Deanna conversed at length with the Klingons in Klingon, listening raptly to something Alexander seemed excited about.

Ro found herself at last standing with Picard and Greenman. They had a viewport at their backs and Greenman was picking hors d'oeuvres from a platter on the end of a buffet table on her right. Oddly, the captain and the young lieutenant were silent amidst the conversations and the occasional loud laughter. Greenman wore a light pink sweater and brown slacks; Picard was in an open-collared white shirt, but still wore what appeared to be the uniform slacks, with non-standard black boots. Both of them looked at Ro, straight-faced but questioning with their eyes.

"So what's Maven like?" Greenman asked, looking at the captain. Continuing a conversation, apparently.

"I don't know. We'll have to discover that the hard way. She was recommended to me by Admiral Nechayev, if that's any indicator."

Greenman rolled her eyes. "Great."

"You've never even met Nechayev."

"I saw her, when we contacted her--glad *I* didn't have to confront her. Want me to get you a refill?"

Picard glanced at his empty glass. "I think I've had enough, thank you."

"I'll take the glass. I'm going for more--excuse me." She dodged around Geordi, McKillip, Glendenning and Crusher, who had formed a new group just off the other end of the hors d'oeuvres table, on her way to the bar.

Picard leaned against the sloped wall behind him. The light from the Briar Patch gave him a red head. "I'm surprised you came."

For the first time since entering the room, Ro faltered. "I wasn't going to. If you don't want me here--"

"I didn't say that."

Ro smoothed the front of her loose Bajoran tunic, letting her fingers follow the thick gold thread woven into the green. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

He held her gaze with his eyes until she found words again. "For missing the point. You weren't angry because I left Starfleet. You weren't angry because I betrayed a friendship. It was more like Emily, and Glendenning. You knew what would happen to the Maquis. But I couldn't not go--I'd never felt like I really had a home, until I met Macias and his cell."

"So you left because it felt like home?"

"I enjoyed my time on the *Enterprise*--it was the best part of my career. But home. . . it's not something you find on a ship."

"Not for everyone, no. It's something you find with certain people, who may or may not be aboard a ship. Home is where the heart is, goes the old cliche. You followed your heart. I understand that. What bothered me was the blindness --I thought you knew where terrorism would take you."

"Would you resort to terrorism to save your home?"

He looked around them, at Deanna for a moment, then at the other laughing and talking people in the room. He fidgeted--playing with the ring he now wore. Ro remembered rings from wedding ceremonies she'd been to aboard the *Enterprise* and what they were supposed to mean.

"No," he said, looking at her again. "But that decision becomes easier with the knowledge that my family would never expect me to, nor would they resort to it themselves. And I'm not without other recourse. I wanted to do something about the colonists--it was probably why Nechayev took me off the DMZ, after Dorvan. She knew what I might do if the right circumstances came about. She didn't want war. And while I can appreciate her reasons, I cannot excuse the Federation's abdication of responsibility to the colonists. Promises were made and broken."

"But--if you agreed with us, why didn't you do anything?"

One of his eyebrows rose and fell. "Why do you believe I did nothing? Phasers and fists are not my primary means of communication. They cause more problems than they solve in most circumstances."

"If they're the only thing the Cardassians understand -- "

"This isn't about the Cardassians. One of the failings of people who have been grievously injured by someone is the generalization of their anger to all representatives of a race. You aren't alone in that failing. As my counselor and a variety of others have pointed out, I've been as prone to it as anyone. Cardassians did make my life quite unpleasant, at one point--you might remember that I've been captured by them, as well. I do not believe, however, that all Cardassians are like the one who tortured me. My own failing comes into play mostly where the Borg are concerned." He smiled sadly and bowed his head. "Generalizations and assumptions foster rash decisions. Acting without knowing enough about the circumstances, or the consequences, isn't wise. I try to avoid it whenever possible."

"Are you saying I acted without thinking it through?"

"You may not have--only you know that. It certainly isn't my place to judge; I've acted without thinking more than once. I've thought a lot about Emily. She had a promising career in Starfleet ahead of her when the Section approached her. She saw it as a way of protecting everything she held dear, in a tangible and immediate way. Tom warned her because he knew first hand what could happen. She didn't listen. I'm afraid he takes it personally."

Ro took another sip of wine and tried not to make a face. It tasted suddenly bitter. "You didn't explain it to me this way, when I expressed doubt in that bar."

"Would you have listened?"

She shrugged. "Probably not."

"But I should have tried, just the same."

Ro looked him in the eye and recognized it for what it was. Shrugging again, she smiled. "We all make mistakes."

"Hopefully by now I've learned from a few of them," he said, sighing. He glanced at Greenman, who stood across the room with the Klingons and one of the officers Ro didn't recognize.

"I hope the stuffed shirts back at Command have."

His smirk was unexpected. "The Kennelly's of the fleet all have their day of reckoning, eventually."

"Thanks for letting me beam down to say good-bye to the Ba'ku."

"Thank you for helping us with them. Anij liked you, and it helped to have you with us."

Sudden loud laughter made both of them look. Will tossed a nut in the air, caught it in his mouth, and Sumners, Crusher and Deanna applauded him.

"I remember that--they used to do that at parties," Ro said, watching Deanna try it and miss. The nut fell into the folds of the cowled neck of her dress. She picked it out and tried again.

Picard chuckled softly at it and turned to Ro. "Let's get something to drink. I understand Data makes an excellent Samarian Sunrise."

They moved to the bar in the corner. While Data made their drinks, the nut-tossing contest continued nearby. Ro picked up her glass, examined the yellow-orange-purple contents, and sipped carefully. "Hey, this is pretty good."

"Thank you. It is good to see you here, Ro."

"Thanks, Data. Question," Ro said, turning to Picard. "What's that Aunt Emma thing all about?"

The captain exchanged an amused look with Data. The android picked up a napkin and shook it out, then bobbed it in time as he said in a sing-song way, "My Aunt Emma got sick and died, did she die?"

Ro looked from one to the other, confused, then at the group of nut-tossers, who had stopped and now watched them. "Um. No?"

"Correct. Now, watch." Data repeated the question, waving the napkin in a circle.

"No?"

"Incorrect. She did die."

"I don't get it."

"You have to watch." Data repeated the question again, and again, waving the napkin around randomly, and to her consternation she couldn't understand what it was that made the answer positive or negative. No matter how hard she watched she couldn't understand the determining factor--the napkin moved in a different pattern each time he said it.

"I don't get it," Ro exclaimed. "It just doesn't make sense. What is it that makes the answer yes?"

The captain's sudden gesture to the room at large startled her. "WATCH!"

"YES!" roared a number of those attending -- *Enterprise* crew, she realized, as the others looked around in surprise.

"Data told you the first time--you just have to watch," Picard said calmly, strolling toward some of the grinning guests.

"Oh." Ro shrugged and picked up her drink, smiling sheepishly at Data. "Is that all it's about? Silly me."

 

~@~@~@~@~

Chapter 26

The only ships around Starbase 375 were the ones from the Briar Patch. Jean-Luc watched one of the Klingon warbirds move into a lower orbit around the base, passing out of sight beneath the nose of the *Enterprise* and thus out of his view. Ahead of him hovered the *Potemkin*--tiny flares of pods and EVA suits told him work was under way on the outer hull. Ablative armor replacements, mending of minor hull breaches in the lower decks, and replenishment of ship's stores were in order. Tom's ship hovered beyond *Potemkin,* receiving similar repairs and a new warp core. Will's was beyond both of them, awaiting the decision of engineers on whether she'd be able to return to active duty at all.

It would take a month at the least to bring the *Enterprise* back to spec. In the meantime, Deanna's temporary replacement, Commander Maven, had finally contacted them. She would be arriving at any time. Maven's prior posting, a Galaxy-class vessel, was undergoing refits at Utopia Planitia and would be shipping out with a new CO in five months. Maven would be able to take Deanna's place on the bridge for however long was necessary.

Jean-Luc let his gaze fall to the bed--in the half-light he'd ordered, his sleeping wife formed a collection of rounded contours and shadows, the covers tucked around her. He sat on the edge of the mattress, a hand on her leg. Her emotional recovery had been slow. She hadn't been completely at ease until the yacht had come out to meet them, bringing their son home to them.

Stirring, she stopped her gentle snoring and mumbled something. He saw the glimmer of her eye through her lashes. Her arms tightened on the pillow; raising her head slightly, she moaned, moving her legs.

"Sshh, settle down, cygne. It's all right. Go back to sleep."

"Yves," she breathed, reaching. Her fingers splayed, then fell to the edge of the bed, a meter short of the bassinet.

"He's fine." Jean-Luc brushed her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck. "We're fine. Everything is fine."

She was still mostly asleep. The slight frown told him whatever she'd been dreaming still clung to her. "Jean. . . ."

He pressed his lips against her cheek, whispering the words.

"the first of all my dreams was of

a lover and his only love,

strolling slowly(mind in mind)

through some green mysterious land

until my second dream begins--

the sky is wild with leaves;which dance

and dancing swoop(and swooping whirl

over a frightened boy and girl)

but that mere fury soon became

silence:in huger always whom

two tiny selves sleep(doll by doll)

motionless under magical

foreverfully falling snow.

And then this dreamer wept:and so

she quickly dreamed a dream of spring

\--how you and i are blossoming"

When he pulled away, the frown was gone. A few moments later another quiet snore reassured him that the sound of his voice, if nothing else, had settled her. Convincing her to sleep in this morning had brought him to near-desperation tactics--threatening to pull rank and drag Mengis into the middle of it. She'd been up too often at night, and more often than not he'd awakened with her, but she seemed to be more easily tired, possibly because she hadn't yet recovered completely from everything that happened in the Briar Patch. The things she'd done had run counter to every instinct she had.

Yves made a soft, plaintive noise. Jean-Luc leaned to pick up his son. "Hello," he murmured, tucking Yves in one arm. Memories of children he'd never really had crowded in, as they often did. He kissed the tiny forehead and the smell of a clean and powdered baby drove the memories away. Hard to believe this small wrinkled child was his.

He carried Yves out of the room, hoping to not disturb Deanna again, and sat on the couch with the swaddled infant in his arms, studying the face that would someday look like his own. The fine black hair poking out from under the cap he wore would later grow in curly and thick, like Deanna's. Jean-Luc touched a soft cheek, the upturned nose, the knob of a chin, then laid his hand on his son's chest. He could feel the pulse under his thumb where it rested against Yves' throat.

"Beau petit," he whispered, echoing Deanna's refrain. And his own mother's--he wished Maman could have seen her grandson. She'd never seen Rene, either. The undesirable consequences of waiting to have children. Yves would have one grandparent, and while Jean-Luc disliked the thought of dealing with her on an ongoing basis, he had to admit that she'd definitely fill the role of doting grandmere.

The annunciator chimed quietly. Jean-Luc didn't think it would be anyone from his own crew; he'd left orders that they weren't to be disturbed. Probably one of their friends. They'd been trickling in one and two at a time to see the baby and it was about time for a third cycle of visits to begin.

"Come."

He stiffened when the doors opened to reveal Admiral Nechayev. She stepped inside and let them close behind her. "I hope I'm not disturbing--no. I know I am."

Jean-Luc rose from the couch, holding Yves closer, and went to look out at the view. He heard her approach but didn't look. Her perfume, faint as it was, surprised him--she didn't seem the type for such things. It smelled like roses, but with a hint of artificial chemistry; it made him want to sneeze.

"I received your report while en route." She stood next to him, looking at Yves. "You know why I'm here."

"How many of the letters I sent to the families of the deceased have they doctored, Elena?" he said softly.

"You should be more careful--"

"I should? *I* should?" He glared at her, meeting her eyes for the first time. She was in stealth mode, out of the usual admiral's uniform, probably to make it through a starbase and the corridors of the ship without attracting much attention. The black and gray duty uniform suited her, aesthetically speaking. It should be more gray than black, if less tangible aspects of the person wearing it were considered. "Officers were lost. The Ba'ku were victims of the Section. The carnage --Section 31 came within millimeters of re-creating the Dominion. And you want me to sweep the remnants of their mess under my carpet."

Elena smiled thinly. "This is a very old argument, Jean-Luc. You know--"

"I *know* that the existence of Section 31 makes a mockery of everything I've done from the day I tested for the Academy."

She tipped her head back. "There would be no Federation if the Section didn't exist."

"Really."

She touched his arm, brushing his sleeve at the elbow. One of only a handful of times she'd actually come into physical contact with him. "Did you receive my message?"

"I'm not interested. I've told you that a thousand times."

"I've changed my mind about that, anyway. It's safer for all concerned if you're on your ship."

Sidestepping, he raised a skeptical eyebrow and leaned away from her.

"Yes, I just admitted I was wrong. Please don't faint." Her words dripped sarcasm. "I also received a very interesting report from Medical--a copy of your counselor's reviews of you and Deanna, annotated by the head of the fleet psychology department. Fascinating reading."

"I'm glad you were amused."

"You shot her," Elena said, quietly serious.

"I shot an imposter."

"How did you know the difference?"

"Are you suggesting I wouldn't know the difference between a shapeshifter and my first officer?"

Elena pursed her lips and considered. "I wouldn't dare. It was a fascinating report, as I said. Especially when I held up yours and Deanna's reports of what took place in the Briar Patch alongside it, and Riker's. Glendenning was surprisingly vague. He's normally much more verbose."

"I wouldn't know anything about anyone's report but my own." Technicalities. He didn't know what had gone into the reports with absolute certainty, prior discussions notwithstanding.

Elena crossed her arms. Her scathing look would have given him pause, if he didn't know her as well as he did. "Jean-Luc, tell me the truth about what happened out there."

"You have the truth. It's in the reports."

"You just said you didn't know what was in other reports."

"The other officers involved would not lie." Omitting things was, technically, not lying; still, he was glad she wasn't an empath, otherwise she'd know how angry the necessity of taking such precautions made him. He moved away, pacing aimlessly as if to soothe Yves' restlessness, swaying gently with the baby. Elena followed him in a tighter circle of the room, keeping her voice down.

"I didn't claim they might, but none of them said a word about the Section. You were the only one who did. I find it unlikely that you wouldn't tell them, once you knew what was really happening."

"Perhaps the Section has already whitewashed the reports. The others sent them through normal channels. I made a point of sending mine directly to you. If you want the complete truth, why not just do away with the Section?"

"We can't--"

"Even if we have evidence? Solid proof--they're still Federation citizens, aren't they? Even if Starfleet couldn't touch them, they could be tried as citizens."

"If we could identify all of them and collect evidence against each individual, that might work. We can't even do that in this instance--all involved parties in the Briar Patch are now dead."

"We have one of them in custody." Jean-Luc shifted his grip--his son fussed briefly and quieted as Papa forced himself to relax out of the rising anger. He turned and paced the other direction. If Elena hadn't been there he'd have gone into the nursery and rocked Yves to sleep, but having the fleet admiral follow him in there seemed inappropriate and uncomfortable.

"Technically, he's no longer human, and he's unable to make his own decisions into the bargain. We're not certain what to consider him. A casualty of the situation, more than anything else. We're not sure what to do with him, either. He's certainly not in any condition to be returned to his family."

"The Ba'ku?"

"Will be granted status as a protectorate of the Federation, and the crew of the *Renton* will be joined by another science vessel shortly, to return to the Briar Patch and begin working on ways to counteract the metaphasic radiation. Your engineer, LaForge, has already given us help to that end--the chromodynamic shields he and his staff came up with will help our personnel protect themselves against long-term exposure. The installation will be subjected to a series of explosions--the contents of the labs will be buried, untouched and unstudied."

"So you say."

"The existence of the Section, and my knowledge of it, doesn't mean you have to stop trusting me, Jean-Luc."

He eyed her while patting Yves gently, and was almost distracted by tiny fingers gripping his pinky. "What are we to do about the four remaining Maquis?"

"They will be held accountable for their acts of terrorism. Their actions in this will be considered, of course."

"The Federation has no right to judge them, or any of the Maquis in prison, so long as Section 31 exists. If we can excuse Section agents, exempt them on the basis of the ends justifying the means, then punishing the Maquis is hypocrisy. There is no excuse for treating our citizens harshly for crimes that we excuse in our ranks. I know that the Maquis were declared to have forfeited their citizenship, but the colonists who made up the bulk of the movement were our people, and we threw them to the wolves."

"Sacrifices--"

"Are always necessary in dire situations. I'm not contesting that. Sacrifices should be made freely, however. Not coerced by the threat of abandonment or punishment." He took a step, turning to face her. "The difference between tyranny and a free society, Elena. The Maquis acted out against oppression -- caught between two governments forging an uneasy truce and seeing no other way to defend their homes and themselves. I wonder what either one of us would do in a similar situation."

She gave him that look, the 'pacify-Picard' expression he could almost predict now, after years of dealing with her. With it came the sidestep to another issue. "You know that if anything could be done about the Section, I would have done it."

"The Section threatens us all. If they are wrong and I am not a threat to the Federation, and they assassinate me, who punishes them? If they kill someone who might have changed his mind the following week and signed the peace treaty anyway--what then? But they suffer no consequences. They have no boundaries. They are their own authority. It's dangerous. It must be stopped. What we have just been through should be conclusive proof of it."

The admiral's shoulders sank, the difference barely perceptible. And again, the sidestep. "You want pardons for the Maquis. I can't do that, Jean-Luc."

"That isn't what I said--but it's no longer an issue. I've let them go. I gave them the *Mirage* before we left the Briar Patch."

"Captain," she blurted, regained control, and continued in a more subdued, but tight-as-hull-plates tone. "You could be brought up on charges--"

"Then *do it!* Charge me, call in Glendenning and Riker and my officers and their officers, call in the Klingons and Shelby, have the JAG run all of us through the wringer and extract the truth! We'll tell it, all of us, every blasted bit of it, down to the look on your face right now," he grated, going raspy in the attempt to keep his voice down. "I'll even give you the *Mirage*'s last known location. You can go apprehend them and they'll tell the truth as well. That they were deceived by the Ba'ku, who were under duress placed upon them by people supposedly acting on behalf of the Federation. Every one of us will pass any lie detection method--we'll even allow mind melds. In fact, I may *insist* upon it, speaking for myself. I believe there is a Vulcan on the Federation Council at the moment, as well as one or two in high-ranking positions in the fleet? We have a Betazoid JAG. How do you want the truth to come out, Elena? Where do you want to be when it does?"

She backed a few steps and held herself straight and stiff, horrified. Jean-Luc slowed his breathing, loosened his grip on the baby, soothed Yves wordlessly until both of them were at ease again.

"How easy it is to lie--how simple it would be, to let you believe that was true. You see how easy it becomes for you to stop trusting the trustworthy, simply because you are aware that it's possible to find Section agents in the most unexpected places? Yet another trap they've laid to sabotage us. You've lost the ability to have faith in others."

Her lips formed an 'o' as she exhaled, relief in her eyes. "Don't manipulate me that way, Jean-Luc."

"It made the point. You know I wouldn't resort to it, Elena. How much more than what happened in the Briar Patch do we need to prove what's going wrong in the name of Federation security?"

"I'm informed that this was not authorized by the Section either. They were to investigate the possibility, not carry out--"

"Informed by whom? Someone you trust? Harris? He's probably in charge of the Section."

"Stop this," she hissed.

"How can you let them go unquestioned, after what happened in sector 441? How do we know, for that matter, that this was an isolated incident? Perhaps you are a shapeshifter. Perhaps I should verify that you actually arrived on a transport from Command. Perhaps--but my ship's internal sensors are now rigged to detect shapeshifters of that sort. Lucky for me. What will we find if we scan headquarters, I wonder? Oh, well, that doesn't matter, because obviously you trust the Section plays by the rules when it comes to Starfleet. Of course, you would never be able to convince Riker of that, would you? He lost twenty-two people for no good reason and his ship's on the verge of being declared scrap. I lost twelve people, and my ship's in bad shape. Glendenning lost fifteen, his ship's worse than mine. Six, from Shelby's security department. All twenty of the *Mirage* crew, and one admiral. The scientists the Section sent to create the shapeshifters were all killed. And then there are those who weren't Starfleet--eight Klingons. Sixteen Ba'ku died. All but four of the Maquis were killed. Almost all of the Son'a died, and unknown numbers of Jem'hadar, Tarlac and Ellora. Those are just the deaths I know about--this operation has been in place long enough, who knows what ships may have strayed through the Briar Patch and been destroyed? And there would have been more, if our medical departments hadn't worked themselves to exhaustion."

She had no answer. Her face had gone pale, her lips set in a line, and it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. "I didn't say that I approved of anything that happened. This has been a tragedy, and we have you and your crew to thank that it didn't become more of one. I merely acknowledge the reality, and the difficulty of what you suggest. The only way to do away with them is to make them unnecessary."

"Make them unnecessary," Jean-Luc said, letting the disdain show. "Elena, I don't doubt that it saved lives in the war, to have them at work. But as long as they exist, as long as they are there to be used as a crutch when difficulties arise, we will remain arrested at this stage of development. There will *always* be another potential foe on the horizon--another Qo'nos, another Romulus, another Cardassia, another Orion Syndicate. Another Randra Alliance. The Section will continue to act out of the intent to protect--they only obscure the truth and circumvent diplomacy. I would refer you at this point to my own mission logs dealing with Section interference, if I weren't certain they have been edited to protect the guilty. I am appealing to you on the behalf of your children and grandchildren to dare to fix this *now,* to not let the Section continue to operate outside the law."

Her head went back as if he'd slapped her. "There's no way to keep them from doing it--you know that I have no control over them!"

"Explain that to him." He held out Yves, cradled carefully in his hands. "Tell him why he'll be forced to deal with the Section. Tell him why you didn't take care of it when it was remotely possible, instead of putting it off until the odds against success were even greater. I'd like to hear it, too."

She stared at the baby, color rising in her face. When she didn't move to take him Jean-Luc brought the baby back against his chest and continued to stare at her. Her shoulders moved slightly, the only visible reaction, and when her ice-blue eyes flicked up to his face he saw that she hadn't budged an inch.

"Do the bars actually do that to a person?" he asked softly. "I remember you being more optimistic than this, Elena."

Her cheeks fairly glowed crimson, but her tone matched his. "The more I know, the more difficult it becomes to remember how to be optimistic. There are certain realities we must face. Not everyone has the same idea of peace. The Vulcans have IDIC, but they are the exception."

"There's got to be a better solution. One we're not finding by circumventing the problems--taking the 'easy' way out."

Her eyes closed, she turned away from him, opening them on the viewport in front of them. "I've come a long way from the captain I was. You've come a long way from the brash lieutenant I transferred to the *Stargazer.* It's all different now--I don't have to tell you that. So many lives, so many civilizations, rely upon Starfleet and the Federation Council. You don't understand how difficult it was to negotiate that treaty with the Cardassians. I didn't *want* to risk lives, Jean-Luc. I didn't want to give up those worlds."

It was the closest thing to a confession of guilt he'd ever hear from her, and though her voice remained tight and hard, her final admission carried an almost wistful undercurrent. She kept looking past him at the starbase and the ships, and her right hand had made a tight fist.

The hardness in her voice was gone when she spoke again. Now she was simply matter-of-fact. "Effecting change in regulations and policies isn't as easy as changing a few minds, and there are quite a few who believe the Section is necessary. We're not talking about an away mission, Jean-Luc. Ridding the Federation of Section 31 is not something a handful of people can manage."

"But we could make a start." He took a slow step toward her and held out Yves again. "There are always places to start, everywhere we look, sometimes only a paradigm shift away."

She took the baby at last. He knew she had had children; it was still surprising to see her soften and wrap her arms around the small bundle. Her smile was all mother, affectionate in a way the Iron Maiden would never be when facing an officer.

"How is Deanna?" she asked distantly.

"Recovering. Suffering the guilt of sending her child far away. In some things, our emotions will never cooperate with the rational."

The softness ebbed when Elena glanced up at him. "How could she do it?"

"How could she not? Her child's future depended on what she did--she may not have known why things were happening, but she knows that what we do today shapes the Federation our children will know."

Elena passed Yves back to him gently. "He's a beautiful child."

"I can only hope he has a chance to become a beautiful adult. As long as we don't get too confident that the Federation will protect us and settle in a disputed zone somewhere, that should be possible."

"Do you ever do anything you can't turn into a political statement?" she exclaimed, eyebrow twitching.

"We abandoned our citizens on the DMZ. Those colonies were their homes. The Federation made them promises and didn't keep them."

"You would rather see us torn apart by war--"

"That happened anyway, didn't it?"

"No one can predict the future, Jean-Luc! We can only do our best with what we have, when we have it."

He shifted Yves to his shoulder, patting his back, and stared at Elena with as neutral an expression as possible. She sighed, drooping suddenly, and ran her fingers down the baby's back, her short nails dragging on the weave of the gray blanket.

"It's the only Federation we have, Elena. It may not be perfect but we can't give up on it. We can't let them turn it into nothing more than a shiny camouflage over a heartless group of amoral people."

"The Section exists to protect--"

"They tried to take my ship," he said, drilling the words into the middle of her usual refrain. "I am part of the Federation--they did not protect me, or my crew, or Riker's crew, or anyone else. They impersonated me. They impersonated Deanna. They want me off the *Enterprise,* for some reason. I have reason to believe that they have been making attempts on my life. A reliable source has informed me that one of their agents was sent to Romulus to watch us. And who is to say they won't suddenly decide you're as much of a threat as I, and go after you? Or the president? Because I have no idea why they perceive me as a threat to the Federation. I have spent my life in pursuit of its preservation and expansion."

She inhaled deeply, shoulders rising and falling. "Perhaps they perceive you as a threat to *them*?"

"They'd be right about that. Until now, however, I have not been a direct threat."

"Jean-Luc, if they wanted to kill you, I don't doubt that you would already be dead."

"You're saying that the agent on Romulus was nothing. That the fact that when they had the opportunity, the shapeshifters were replacing both Deanna and I, then implementing a scheme that would send me off the ship and possibly remove her as well if Command didn't see fit to give her the ship--that was nothing. It wouldn't be their style to walk up and shoot me--they'll do it in such a way that it can go down in history as death in the line of duty, or the end result of a vendetta of some sort, or an accident. A malfunctioning heart or a devious Romulan plot. Why implicate themselves or create a martyr?"

"You have no proof that those were Section mandates and not individual choices. Only suspicion. Those incidents might be unrelated. How many times have you nearly died over the years? Are you going to blame all of them on the Section?"

He glared, and she met it solemnly, without turning away. "'Thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.' Don't offer me a promotion again, Elena. I don't like what the bars have done to you. I hope that I never reach the point at which I feel the need to explain away the obvious truth to avoid confronting the difficult."

Long, long moments passed, during which they gazed at one another unflinchingly. Even a half-cry from Yves didn't disrupt the silent exchange. "We can only do our best," she repeated, but without the ire. "I'm glad you're on my side, Jean-Luc."

"Only when I have to be." He managed a somewhat good-natured tone. Somehow he doubted anyone dared take that tone with her. She gave him the most genuine smile he'd seen from her yet, surprising him.

"You're never going to forgive me for Vazoni Ten, are you?"

"I was right."

"The commanding officer is always right."

"Except when she's wrong. I was right, and it would have saved us time and trouble. The only reason you didn't use my idea was because you had a lieutenant-commander and a commander looking on, and the lowly lieutenant couldn't possibly have a better suggestion than a captain."

Sighing, she gave him a cynical look of forbearance. "We actually reach a consensus on something and then you remind me of why we have so many conflicts again."

"Look at the logs and reports of this latest incident. Take note of how many times decisions are made and action taken in my absence, and the sources of the suggestions made and followed."

"I doubt any of your crew question orders so often."

"More often than I ever questioned yours. They know my priorities."

"Your priorities are the same as mine." She crossed her arms. "Most of the time. Except when you've seen fit to interpret regulations however you damn well please and turn perfectly-straightforward situations into ethical grandstanding."

"You never cared about my priorities, only about the job I did and how exactly it matched your specifications. It's much easier to motivate people when they understand your priorities and share them."

"It appears to work for you," she replied, which was as close to admitting he was right on that issue as she could get with him, apparently. She glanced around the room. "Where is Deanna? You said she was on leave."

"Asleep."

"She's almost as stubborn as you can be. I shudder to think what would happen if the two of you disagreed." She frowned at him. "Why do you find that so funny?"

"My senior officers would find it just as amusing."

"Perhaps I'll ask them about it some time." She studied the painting on the wall, the Vermeer featuring a simple peasant woman with a water pitcher in sunlight before a window, and brought the conversation back to her real concerns. That she'd allowed him to take them so far afield only testified to how much she wanted his cooperation.

"What about the *Mirage*? Your report was vague." He knew that was the real reason she came, had known she would question before he submitted the report. Lack of clarity on an important point had become a signal to her that more was afoot than he felt comfortable discussing in a report, knowing as they both did that the Section might be paying attention. He could count the number of incidents on one hand, but it had only taken one such report for her to find out why he'd been vague and concur with his reasons.

"Running cloaked at the moment, not far from here. The second shapeshifter we captured is aboard--the first officer, actually. She follows orders to the letter, without question. The bodies of the rest of the crew are in the *Enterprise* morgue, pending transfer. Would you rather I turned the ship in, or destroyed her?"

"The Maquis?"

"They risked their lives in the recovery of Starfleet personnel and the Ba'ku. Ro played a key role in apprehending the last three shapeshifters. When all was said and done, they stayed aboard and await a decision. Even if it means prison. They understood the consequences."

Elena thought about it, eyes distant. "Ro was your flight control officer for a time, wasn't she?"

"Yes. She would have made an excellent officer."

"If she had obeyed orders."

"She grew up during the occupation of Bajor. She was faithful to her people, dedicated to the cause--she wanted to do something to help the colonists along the DMZ. I don't fault her reasons, but her actions were ill-advised." Yves squalled briefly, quieting almost at once. When he looked up from comforting the baby, Jean-Luc saw that she watched him keenly.

"You handed her weapons and let her have the run of the ship. In fact, so did Glendenning. Perhaps because he trusts you? Still, she was Maquis, and prior to that short-lived second chance at reviving her Starfleet career that you gave her, she was in prison. You aren't given to sentimentality, Jean-Luc. Just what is it about her that makes you trust her?"

He sniffed, then laughed curtly. "You still trust me, and I you, for the same reasons."

"Because she's not afraid of you, or because she doesn't waste time shitting with you?" He knew that rapport had been reached at that point. Such base language wasn't her usual and shocked his ears, which were accustomed to her clipped, professional manner.

"Because she is a known quantity, a principled person, and a friend. In spite of our differences of opinion and mistakes."

The comparison pleased Elena more than she wanted to show, something reflected in the tightness of the smile she gave him. "You can call her principled."

"The fact that someone else's principles differ from my own should not prevent friendship. Your presence her is case in point, Elena."

"How dare you talk to an admiral that way?" Had she sounded anything but amiable when she said it, he might have worried.

"What admiral? If you were officially here, we wouldn't be in my quarters, would we?"

"I don't see any hope of bringing down the Section," she murmured. "But, I suppose, if it were possible. . . . If I didn't know better I'd think your current arrangement with Deanna had been engineered just to prove to me you could tackle anything and win."

"As if I would manipulate or use anyone that way."

She squared her shoulders. "Captain. I'm sorry to hear that the Maquis stole the *Mirage*--it would have been a key piece of evidence in untangling what was obviously a case of officers taking matters into their own hands."

"If I find them. . . ."

"If you find them--which I am positive would only happen under certain circumstances, understand--then the investigation will continue, of course. But, as those involved are all deceased, and all your reports and those of the other personnel in the Briar Patch are inconclusive. . . ."

"I understand. We'll preserve as much as we can."

"You're certain you can trust Ro?"

"If I were certain it wouldn't be trust. Would it?"

"You'd better not be wrong," Elena said, smooth and low and dangerous.

"About her, or about you," he replied, matching the tone. "Both would be equally damaging--either one of you could turn on me."

The intensity of her eyes faded. "I wouldn't."

"So you say. Trust."

She nodded. "Trust."

Jean-Luc put his hand on his son's chest. One of the baby's hands landed on his thumb, a tiny flutter of fingers. "I think the universe as we knew it just came to an end, Elena."

"Really?" She smiled, again the professional version of Elena Nechayev, just like that. "We've always been on the same side. I keep telling you that."

"It would help with the other three Maquis if we had something to promise them. Would it be so difficult to arrange a commuted sentence, or a pardon?"

"If we do manage to expose the Section and they were instrumental in it? We may not be able to bring them to trial if we wanted to. The publicity factor does play its part." She studied him through lidded eyes. "I only hope we have an actual chance at success."

"'The probability that we may fail in the struggle ought not to deter us from the support of a cause we believe to be just.'"

"I don't believe I've heard that before. Surak?"

"No, a gentleman from our own history. Abraham Lincoln. He led the northern United States in a war against the southern states, in the 1800's. The slaves freed in the aftermath did not completely escape prejudice for another century and a half, but we do not always see the real end result of our actions. We can, as you say, only do our best, and have faith in the next generation to build upon it."

"If anyone in the Section finds out. . . ."

"Risk is part of the job--Captain."

Elena grimaced. "I've not been called that in decades. Let's hope we're not the only ones who are willing to embark on this little project." Her eyes grew distant again. "Although, I may already know of a few at Command who are ready to try. There's been some friction lately."

"I have officers, friends, who will fight with us. The admiral neglected to invoke the proper protocol when he originally asked for help--Riker was sent as a result, and I'm told that was intentional on the admiral's part, to expose the Section. Something tells me that in a group that logically punishes its traitors by death to avoid exposure, there will be others who wish to find a way out but can't see their way clear of it. And why would the Section attempt to create completely-subservient agents, if there weren't some desperation? It's possible they had only the Borg in mind when they began creating shapeshifters, but I doubt that. This may be an opportune moment to make the attempt."

"Do you always have your cards this organized before you play poker?"

Jean-Luc sniffed, glancing at the bedroom door. Deanna had awakened but wasn't coming out. "There are times when you have good cards, and other times that one is wiser to keep playing until one receives better ones."

"Be careful, Jean-Luc."

"Am I ever anything but?" He looked up from Yves at her. "You were a calculated risk. But you wouldn't agree to this if you didn't mean what you say."

The flicker of doubt was so quickly gone he wasn't certain he'd seen it. "Of course I wouldn't. I do trust you, Jean-Luc. You've always had an instinct for finding solutions where there were none apparent." Her eyes flitted to the floor, then to the painting again, then back to his face. "Frankly, I've been. . . jealous. I never claimed to be anything but passable as a captain."

"Neither have I. Most of my successes can be attributed to the efforts of my crew." He smiled, making it a half-wince. "Having stubborn, loyal officers can increase a captain's lifespan considerably."

He thought he might have gone too far and hoped she hadn't taken it as roundabout criticism, or comparison. She looked at the floor again, mulling it over, and heaved a sigh. The rueful smile as she raised her head surprised him. "I see that it does. I have the distinct feeling you would have done something about the Section if I hadn't decided to make the attempt. But since I have, we're going by the book."

Of course. He'd expected nothing else, from her. He'd dangled the carrot of control, and she'd taken it, but as unpleasant as that was it would help the cause. "The book that makes the provision allowing the Section?"

"'Obviously, we have some work to do--policies can change, or be amended. We'll see. At least you gave me a choice in participating before you started this."

"Unlike the Section, I believe people should always have choices. All people, friend and foe. Because sometimes a foe is merely a choice away from being a friend."

She stared at him a moment longer. "Thank you. Give Deanna my congratulations, and my best wishes. Commander Maven should be reporting for duty shortly. She was on the transport with me."

"I'll look forward to meeting her."

Elena smiled--he didn't like that smile, it looked slightly mischievous and that wasn't normal--and nodded as she turned to leave. He watched her stride smartly out the door, the shoulders of her uniform as neatly squared as one rarely saw. The gray usually highlighted the slightest slump.

He wondered if she would change her mind, but knew if she did, he wouldn't know about it until she refused to speak of the matter. If she did decide otherwise she would say nothing to him or anyone else about their conversation--she would be taking chances with her own career and her life, as well as his, if she did. As regulation-bound and stiff as Elena could be, she still wasn't one to risk lives unnecessarily. Which reminded him of the small wars he'd fought with her about the boundaries between necessary and unnecessary.

Deanna came out as he took a bottle out of the replicator. She had brushed her hair but hadn't gone so far as to dress--she still wore the shirt she'd slept in, one of his old gray ones, the sleeves shoved up over her elbows.

"What did *she* want?"

"Exactly what I thought she would."

Deanna's lips tightened into a cynical line. "Shove it under the carpet and let it all go."

"Until she agreed to see what she can do to help us deal with the Section."

"And just how did you manage that?" she exclaimed, pulling down the shirt and coming to him.

"Well. . . I quoted Hamlet, and Lincoln, and we talked about the nature of trust and loyalty between officers. Possibly one of the more relaxed conversations I've had with her. And she recanted her position on making me an admiral. She may actually help us do something about the Section."

"I see. That would account for your smugness, I suppose."

"Damned empath. We'll talk about it later--I'm sick of thinking about it."

"Mm." She took Yves, and he let her, feeling the internal pull--the bonding had done that. The first few days of having their son with them had been a blur of hours running together, against the background of visitors stopping in to see them. Deanna and Yves eclipsed it all. Carlisle, without saying a word, had seen to the operation of the ship--all they'd been doing was limping themselves to starbase as best they could, anyway. In private moments Jean-Luc had worked with Deanna to continue what they'd started before Yves' birth, the family bond.

She swayed, and not to rock the baby. "Deebird, sit down."

She did so, moving as if it were an afterthought. Her entire focus was on the baby; her every waking moment tended to be that way, as if that might make up for sending him away with strangers.

While she fed him, her tears started again. Jean-Luc sat with her, pulled her against his chest, and let her lean on him, knowing this would end as all her other random crying sessions had. She stayed there long after it did, burping their son and settling in with Yves in her arm.

"Why have you been so broody since we left the Briar Patch?" she asked, breaking the silence unexpectedly.

"Broody?"

"Moody, then. What's wrong?"

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You're supposed to be completely distracted by maternal bliss."

"Jean-Luc," she chided gently. "You know you can't hide things from me."

"Nothing's wrong. I even stopped having those dreams."

"What about those dreams?"

He stroked her arm reassuringly. "It's of no consequence."

"You brought them up. It must be."

"I kept dreaming I lost my wife. Not my officer, just the wife, the personal side of the relationship."

She stiffened perceptibly. "If I had to choose between officer and wife, you know what it would be."

"Don't, cygne. Don't open that for discussion. It isn't necessary. My dreams were just that, and nothing more."

Sliding away a few inches, she looked him in the eye. "Do you want me to quit?"

"I don't want another first officer."

"Do you want me to quit, and concentrate on raising our son?"

"That isn't a valid opt--"

"Do you want me to quit and concentrate on raising our children?"

"Deanna," he exclaimed, and abruptly remembered his imaginary children, how real they had seemed to him, and how Eline had done exactly that, devoted herself to raising children and keeping house. He cupped Deanna's cheek to anchor himself in reality with the warm smoothness of her skin and kissed her other cheek.

"I want you to be happy. You're doing a marvelous job as XO and you've enjoyed it, in spite of being pregnant most of the time you've spent in the position."

"But you want--"

"What I want," he said slowly, silencing her with a look, "is for both of us to be happy. Right now, your career isn't your focus -- right now I do enjoy this side of you. But it's like those first months we were together. It's new. We've also just been through something that caused a lot of emotional turmoil. If you're going to think about quitting, I want you to do it at the end of your leave, not now. I think both of us will feel differently than we do now."

Yves made a quiet noise, drawing her contemplative eyes downward and distracting her for a moment. She straightened the blanket and tucked it around him again, touching his hands, his face, smoothing the tiny cap over his head.

"What if she wants to stay? If she fits in well, and things work well with her in the position?"

"Maven? She couldn't replace you."

"What if she could?"

He cupped her chin and raised her head. "Stop it."

"Yes, sir." He almost chastised her, but noticed the twitch of her mouth. She meant it as a tease. "You did it to Nechayev, too, didn't you?"

"Did what?"

"Taught her to believe again."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Her eyes glowed happily. "That's all right. I do."

"Now is a ship."

"Whose captain am, sails out of sleep, steering for dream." The smile blossomed to its fullest as she completed the poem. She passed Yves to him, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him. As she pulled away he smelled something familiar.

"Deanna. . . is this your subtle way of telling me it's my turn for diaper duty?"

She got up and sauntered toward the bedroom. "Nothing subtle about it, Jean-Fish. I'm going to take a nice long bath, since I haven't had one in weeks."

"That's not fair."

"Life is rarely fair." She disappeared through the door as Yves began to whimper.

He went to the nursery, now just the way Deanna wanted it thanks to her devotion to maternal pursuits, and hummed as he worked at the changing table. He sensed her approach but let her try sneaking up on him, smiling as he put Yves in a new sleeper and rewrapped the blanket around him. He was putting the powder and other baby things in a row along the wall when her hands found his sides and slid forward, her arms wrapping tightly around his ribs. Her chin rested on his shoulder.

"Did I tell you how incredibly sexy you are when you change a diaper?"

"That's the most obvious setup you've used yet. Next you'll start ringing a bell before giving me dinner."

"Well, maybe it wasn't the diaper changing. . . ." She played with the fastener on his pants idly.

"Don't do that unless you're going to do more than tease me."

"So peevish. Has it been that long?"

"Eons. Millennia. Forests have turned to deserts, oceans to dry land--"

"All right, you've proved your point, M'sieur Hyperbole. I'll just put Yves in for a nap." She dodged around him to pick up the baby, placed Yves in the crib, and tucked him in with great care, taking so long to do it that he knew she'd drifted off into maternal bliss and forgotten him. Again.

He wandered out of the nursery, reciting as he went. "Mountains have become valleys. Rivers have carved canyons. Animals have gone extinct and become *fossils.*"

She came to the nursery door. She'd taken off the shirt and put on a robe; as she came slowly forward she untied it with leisurely fingers.

"That's more like it. Hurry up."

"So much for romance."

"Single-celled organisms have evolved into spacefaring civilizations."

"And all because neither one of us have picked up the dirty laundry in weeks."

"Deebird. . . oh, my. What--that's. . . ."

"A size too small, but I've been saving it for the occasion and I knew you wouldn't let me wear it for long. Happy anniversary, Jean-Fish."

~^~^~^~^~

"If you have no objections, I won't schedule a followup."

Natalia blinked and did a marvelous double-take. "What?"

"You've been in counseling since you came aboard. You're done. At least until you feel the need for help, at which time you're more than welcome to come see me." Ben smiled at her.

"Really?"

"Really."

She looked around the office as if she'd just come in for the first time. "Really?"

"So I declare you mentally sound and you're reduced to a vocabulary of one word?"

She laughed, the happiest he'd ever seen her--the first time she'd really laughed aloud in his presence, he realized. "I just wasn't expecting it. I guess it's become part of the routine. Thanks, Counselor."

"You're the one who did all the real work."

"Yeah, well. . . . Hey, this is grounds for a celebration. Let's go down to Ten Forward and get Guinan to make us something special. It's early, but she'd do it, I bet."

Ben didn't see a reason not to. His schedule was clear for the afternoon. As they walked down the corridor he chuckled. "As long as you don't get any ideas, Nat. You're too young for me."

"Who says?"

He wasn't ready for that from her--he stopped and leaned away from her, eyebrows climbing. She laughed at the reaction.

"Oh, come on. I know better than that. You're not my type, Counselor."

He rolled his eyes. "Thanks. I think."

"You know, I have a theory about officers who tell me that--you're not the first to warn me that way, y'know. I think officers who say that are actually expressing their own attraction--"

"Sure they are, Greenman. Leave the psychology to the pros, all right?"

They strolled into Ten Forward, which was nearly empty due to the proximity of a starbase to which off-duty crew could escape. Ben thought again of what he'd been wondering off and on since the ship had left the Briar Patch.

"Nat?"

She sat at a table and watched him take the chair opposite. "Counselor?"

"Do you think I could do what Troi did? Switch departments?"

"Like, become a first officer?"

"Or security?"

Natalia grinned, glancing up at Guinan, who came over from the bar at her usual unhurried pace. "You think the counselor could be in security?"

Guinan studied him briefly. "I'd say that depends. Does he think he can be in security?"

"He had to ask. I'd say not."

"I guess he can't, then. What'll it be?"

"One of those Risan seabreezes. What about you, Counselor?"

Ben looked at each of them in turn. "I didn't say I didn't think I could. I was asking your opinion."

Guinan looked smug when she smiled that way. "If you need a lieutenant's approval, you'll never make it, Ben."

"I didn't--" He slumped. "Whatever she's having."

"Two seabreezes, coming up." Guinan moved off, her jade green robes billowing.

Natalia lost some of her amusement, but still smiled as she leaned on the table. "If you asked the captain he would've asked you if you really wanted it. Then he'd call in deLio, and let him brief you on what it would take for you to switch. He'd give you the opportunity."

Ben blinked--in his mind's eye he saw Natalia as a cadet, one of the few times he'd seen her back then, before he'd even known her name. A thin young woman with closed body language, shoulders hunched ever-so-slightly, and suspicious eyes that never stayed on your face long. The smiling lieutenant across the table was a very different person.

"You think so?"

Natalia nodded. "When Commander Troi was my counselor, while she was working her way toward first officer, she told me this was the ship for people who wanted opportunities. For enterprising people."

"Oh, bad pun."

"But true. It's why a lot of people join Starfleet in the first place. Opportunities--to be more than we are, to be part of the future. To make things happen instead of watching them on the news."

Ben groaned. "I'd say we definitely made things happen. So what's security like?"

"Mmm. . . how do you feel about being shot at, crammed into storage lockers, standing outside doors for hours counting flecks on the carpet, or zapped unconscious and put in sickbay?"

"So what's piloting the ship like?"

~^~^~^~^~

Natalia giggled to herself as she left Ten Forward. It was nice to be able to see Counselor Davidson as just another officer and put all those counseling appointments behind her. After two hours and a lot of seabreezes, and being joined by a few other officers, he'd finally called it quits--but only after telling a long string of hilarious jokes and swapping anecdotes with them.

She had a day of leave ahead of her, and the civvies in her closet beckoned. Listing people she'd like to spend time with in her mind, she hurried for her quarters. Maybe Spenser from sciences would be free. He'd be a fun dinner date.

"Picard to Greenman."

Her hand went to her badge. "Yes, sir?"

"Are you still in uniform?"

Her eyebrows shot up and her feet stopped. "Um, yeah. I was about to go change and head off for the base."

"As so many others have done. Would you do me a favor before you go? Commander Maven has just beamed aboard and I have been. . . unavoidably detained. Could you meet her and welcome her aboard, show her to quarters, and then to my ready room? I'll be up as quickly as I can, but take your time. I'm afraid it will take me a few moments to extricate myself."

Natalia thought she heard a muffled voice in the background --was that Ro? And someone answered her, possibly Glendenning, she thought. "I can do that, sir."

"Excellent. She's supposed to be our first officer for a while, don't forget. If she wants a tour feel free to do the honors, and I'll catch up with you. She's in transporter room two. Picard out."

Sighing, Natalia headed for the appropriate deck, querying the computer for the location of Maven's quarters on the way. When she reached the door she hesitated to do a quick inventory of herself, brushed her hair behind her ears with fast fingers, and pulled back her shoulders. An example of the *Enterprise*'s finest, she told herself, bolstering her quivering self.

Maven was pacing away from her as the door opened. She rounded on Natalia and stopped, and Natalia's first impression of the commander was of a hard-faced woman with bright brown eyes like glass marbles. Sleek dark hair like a seal's, smoothed back into a severe knot, only added to the hard look.

"Commander," Natalia exclaimed confidently. "I'm Lieutenant Greenman. Captain Picard has been detained--I'm here to show you to quarters, and see you to the ready room to meet him."

"Fine." The commander walked past her own duffel and out of the room. Natalia exchanged a skeptical glance with Evitts, the transporter operator of the watch, and slung the bag over her shoulder.

When she caught up with the commander, Natalia smiled politely. "The captain said you served under Captain Joval."

Maven slowed and shot her a glare. "Yes."

"Was it something I said?" Natalia asked innocently.

Maven was as tall as Glendenning and almost as flat-chested, though not as broad in the shoulders. "Lieutenant, is your behavior indicative of what I'm to expect from the rest of the crew?"

Ah. It was going to be *that* way. She could deal with this. "I'm not certain what you mean, sir."

Maven glared, then snapped around and kept going. The march to the commander's quarters was silent after that. Natalia dropped the bag on the floor inside and waited while the new officer made a survey of the accommodations. The commander was one of those Uncle Telly had warned her about, the 'spit-shine-it-and-don't-question-orders' type. Natalia kept her face straight as Maven ran a finger along a surface here and there.

"I can find my way to the ready room, Lieutenant," she said stiffly after finishing her look around.

"The captain ordered me to greet you and show you to quarters, then to the ready room, sir. That is exactly what I intend to do. This way." Natalia stood aside and gestured toward the door.

Maven's stern demeanor subsided at last, a little--she nodded and went, hands behind her back. Orders were orders, after all. Natalia mimicked her posture.

They emerged on the bridge to find Mendez in the center seat, with a few ensigns making repairs. "Lieutenant-Commander Mendez, this is Commander Maven, our first officer," Natalia said formally. It yanked Ray out of the seat and brought him to attention.

"Sir," he said crisply.

"Mr. Mendez is our science officer. Is the captain in, Commander Mendez?"

"He just went in his ready room, Lieutenant."

"Thank you." Natalia went for the annunciator before the commander could get there, entered, and stood at attention. Picard sat at his desk, relaxed and looking up from a padd at her. "Sir," she exclaimed.

The captain blinked but otherwise didn't seem surprised. "Lieutenant?"

"Commander Maven is here, sir."

"Thank you. You're dismissed."

Natalia glanced at the commander, who had also snapped to attention, then spun on a heel and marched from the room. On the way to her quarters, she giggled again, and kept giggling. The commander had no idea what she was getting into. The next few months would be *most* interesting.

~^~^~^~^~

"Gary, get your feet off tactical," Ro snapped.

The gloss had worn off the situation quickly when it became apparent that the only one who obeyed her orders worth a damn was the shapeshifter. Sad, considering she was genetically coded to be that way. And what good was it to be in command of a ship like *Mirage* when she had been locked out of all the fun stuff by Glendenning and Data, and left with the most basic, ordinary functions? They'd gotten the interfaces back after hours of hacking away at the computer, then proceeded to lock them back up again.

"We could go through the wormhole," Gary said, walking around the bridge with his hands on top of his head. "We don't have to do what--"

"We're doing it. We can drop you off on Bajor, if you like. It's out of the way but I'd do it for you, just for old times' sake."

It shut him up. Bajor would mean prison for him now that it was Federation territory. He left the bridge. Ro was left with Emily. Which was really to be alone--Emily wasn't good company unless pretending to be someone else.

At first Ro had been uncomfortable, but after much practice ordering the shapeshifter about, she discovered that Glendenning was right. As Captain Ro of the *Mirage* she had the unconditional loyalty of Emily Forbes. Glendenning had reinforced the tie, telling Emily that Ro was a member of the mysterious Section and someone to obey. Didn't matter that Ro had no real clue about the Section; Emily wouldn't question her. Ro still kept a phaser close at hand all the time anyway, and gave her companions instructions to do so as well. Wasn't like Emily's feelings would get hurt, and it never paid to get too careless.

Her first duty upon reaching the Briar Patch, after giving the Ba'ku fair warning, was to target and destroy the installation in the mountains on Ba'ku with a quantum torpedo. Anij had agreed to that before Starfleet had left the area. The place was full of bad memories, and the corpses of too many Jem'hadar; with the promise of help from the Federation, real help, the installation was better destroyed. The Section could too easily send someone to snoop through to resurrect the procedure to create more shapeshifters.

Ro's second duty was to put the collector back in orbit and help the Ba'ku fix it. Middleton's plan had been to use it to destroy the atmosphere of the planet, obliterating any signs of life and eliminating all traces of the Section's doings on the surface. With a few modifications what had been a magnifier of radiation became a weapon. Until a better way to help the Ba'ku was discovered, the collector would be necessary to augment the effects of the radiation.

Ro's third duty was to re-establish the Maquis colony. They'd have to bury their dead, which would be a terrible job after leaving their bodies in the open for weeks. Ordering Emily to take care of it felt like an abdication of responsibility--Ro would help, and suspected her three companions would, too, with wrinkled noses and determination to give friends a proper burial.

A colony of four and one shapeshifter. Not much to work with. But with any luck, Picard said, their help would be needed sooner than later. The ship, the logs secreted in its computer, the shapeshifter--all of it evidence of something that, for now, couldn't be addressed. They could use the cloaking device to hide from any Federation survey teams in the area.

The other shapeshifter had been taken back to Command by now, probably. Glendenning said it would vanish, probably to be studied and spend the rest of whatever life it had in a jar or force-field cage. It wouldn't care any more than Emily cared what they did with her, but Ro sympathized just the same.

She still cared, she'd discovered at the party Troi had taken her into. It still mattered to her what her old crewmates thought. And looking Picard in the eye when he described her options, either help them by taking the evidence of the Section's transgressions into temporary hiding, or turn herself in and he'd help her find good representation, she realized she cared about more than what he thought of her.

The last time she'd seen him, just before getting that final debriefing and leaving the starbase, she'd looked at him standing there holding his son, the wriggly little bundle upon which he rested a hand as if to protect him from the words he said, and remembered children she'd seen in the camps, and the child she'd been for so short a time. Suddenly she'd remembered with new clarity why she'd joined the Maquis in the first place.

Picard wasn't letting the four of them go, he said. He was giving them a chance to redeem themselves--if they took this risk, gambled with him that the ship and what it contained might help them do away with the mysterious Section, he'd do everything he could to use that to keep them out of prison. It was a great risk, but their involvement could make a difference. They could take this ship and use it to disappear easily enough, he admitted. But the Federation, whether they thought of it that way consciously or not, was their home. Even if they had no family left, even if their colonies were gone, their roots were here. People living here needed help--protection from things they knew nothing about. Ro, Gary, Sarah and Desa could make a difference. It wouldn't be like terrorism--it would be a caretaker's job, a security officer's job. Stand watch over crucial evidence of the Section's activities.

Ro had laughed and said it was another Maquis they were starting, but his sober expression silenced her quickly. He'd quoted someone--Thomas Paine, whoever that was--about protecting others from oppression to save yourself. He wasn't seeking to destroy the Federation or Starfleet, or disobeying orders. He implied he had support at Command, in fact, which had surprised Glendenning. He said that he had sworn to uphold the principles of the Federation and protect it, and that included the apprehension of traitors--the Section were that. Troi had a look in her eyes that said the rest; as she took the baby from Picard, Ro knew part of their motivation in pursuing this was parental concern.

Ro watched the stars on the viewscreen over Emily's head and felt the loneliness again, more acutely than before the encounter with Starfleet in the Briar Patch. More than she'd felt in years. She'd let herself become numb to it in the Maquis, especially after she'd ended up in that Cardie internment camp. The desperate and forsaken couldn't afford emotions.

But she was neither, now. What she did had a purpose. Captain Picard believed in it. She found it difficult to believe he would trust her with all this, but only at first. The more she thought about it, the more she realized--it was all he ever did. Take risks, trust people to do what was right for all the right reasons.

"ETA, Commander Forbes?"

"One hour seventeen minutes to the periphery of the Briar Patch," Emily intoned, pleasant but sounding like the computer. That was all right. She could only be what she was. It was all any of them could do. Ro settled back in the chair and sighed, thinking of her last words to Glendenning. 'Rising to the occasion.'

It wasn't easy, but her life had never been that. She could still rise. The Section had infiltrated the Maquis as well as the Cardassians, Glendenning said, with the sobriety of someone who knew of what he spoke. This was the enemy within, the foe who hid behind the faces of friends and fellow officers. Anyone could be a Section agent. Ro and her cell might have been betrayed to the Cardassians by one of them. That had given Gary and Sarah the final push--that and limited freedom, and the possibility of becoming free citizens again. Desa, Ro suspected, came along because she had nowhere else to go and also wished for freedom to move in Federation space again.

Ro closed her eyes, thought of Bajor, of belleclavion music playing as she made hasperat, and smiled. She could be there again, someday. Things always changed. The question wasn't when--it was how, and why, and what she could do to get there.

This time, things would be different. At the end of this "war," she'd be able to go home, just like her father told her would happen someday when the Cardassians were gone and Bajor was free. It'd been a dream of his that she had given up on, especially in the internment camp during the Dominion War. She thought of Troi's parting shot, and the smile she'd shared with Picard as they'd left the room together, the baby in Deanna's arms. 'Things are only impossible until they're not.'

Coming from those two, Ro could believe it.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, and a box of virtual Godiva chocolates to:
> 
> Cullen, for conversing with me at length on the subjects of Ro, the Maquis, the Briar Patch, Johnny the Conspiracy Detector and All Around Menace to Admirals, and Insurrection: The Fallacies.
> 
> Cullen and Catherine in Oz, for their service as guinea pigs for the early draft.
> 
> Heather, for her unexpected email that kept me going when I was ready to smash my head in the monitor, delete ASL, and be done with it. Cab, for the same at a later but similar stage.
> 
> Resources tapped in my quest for believability:
> 
> http://www.britannica.com - for my half-baked attempt at convincing medibabble
> 
> http://www.pantheon.org - for mythological names and definitions
> 
> http://www.2.50megs.com/ds9enc/ds9end.htm- for various Dominion, jem'hadar and shapeshifter info
> 
> ST Encyclopedia CDROM version, which differs in some "facts" from other sources, but I paid money for it so I'll use it.
> 
> That videotape of Insurrection haunting my entertainment center.


End file.
